


Finding the Firsts

by WriterChick



Series: The Baelishes [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark Sansa, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mind Games, Minor Character Death, Obsession, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Trauma, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Sassy Sansa, Stalking, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Violence, Voyeurism, Wolves, Wooing, mob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7888399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mob Boss Petyr Baelish is scouring the city looking for his wife Sansa after receiving a text message from her,<br/>"Find me.  Fuck me.  No cheating – you have one hour and forty-three minutes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Welcome Distraction

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Petyr had spent the majority of the morning in one conference room or another.  He had to make regular appearances at some of his legitimate businesses to maintain the façade that those were his only ones.  He vaguely paid attention to different advisors argue the best way to move his money around.  He already knew, he’d been moving money around for years on his own, all the way back to grade school when he started a pool of milk money that always ended up in his favor.  He smiled at the memory of little Petyr conning school bullies and getting away without a scratch.

Sansa would have been proud of him, she always appreciated his work.  It could be because she understood it; she was ruthless in her own way.  He knew that he could tell her anything he’d done, any scheme, any outcome and she would accept it – accept him.  More so, she would take joy in it, or at the very least support his joy in it.  Thinking of Sansa, Petyr found himself fidgeting, wanting more of her:  How was she?  What was she doing?  What was she wearing?  Who was she talking to?  Even the most mundane could satisfy a need for her.  Waiting would not.  Trying not to check on her would only create more unease, and he knew it.  It was better just to check, just to find out real quick, give in to the impulse, and carry on with the day.

Petyr punched in the password on his phone’s lock screen and opened a couple of folders that took him to the camera feeds in his home.  He looked in her office, empty.  He switched over to the bedroom, no Sansa.  It wasn’t until he had checked the kitchen and still had not found her that he started to sit up in his chair and used both hands to tap the screen of his phone looking more intently for her.  When every single camera in the house failed to capture his wife, Petyr typed:   _Where are you?_

A couple of seconds passed by and she hadn’t responded.  Petyr shifted in his seat, barely attempting to appear as though he was still following the meeting.  His hand stayed wrapped around the phone resting in his lap, at attention to receive the response.  After a few seconds that felt like hours passed, a response vibrated in his lap:   _Find me._   _Fuck me.  No cheating – you have one hour and forty-three minutes._

He felt a smile form as he looked down at the message.  She wanted him.  Memories of how she looked in different positions and clothes flooded him as he wondered where she could be, what she would be wearing—or not wearing, and how he would take her when he got her.  He was already standing up and moving towards the door before he thought to announce over his shoulder, “Sorry, family emergency.”

Petyr pushed the button for the elevator trying not to push it more than once and thought while he waited.  He considered that she was not at home and had said no cheating.  Cheating meant that he could not look up the GPS on her phone and he could not call Jon – Sansa’s bodyguard, to find out where they were.  It was a big city, she could be anywhere imaginable, and Sansa was very creative.  He texted back:   _If you won’t let me cheat, will you give me a hint to start off with?_

Within seconds his phone buzzed in response:   _It’s one of our firsts._

He stepped off of the elevator and called for his driver to come around with the car as he considered what she could possibly mean.  Firsts.  First kiss?  First fuck?  What?!  He inhaled through his nostrils and slowly blew the air out through his lips to slow himself down.  He needed to start from the beginning.  “Take me to the Doghouse.”  His driver nodded and opened the door for Petyr.  


	2. In the Doghouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you imagine a beauty like that letting The Hound at her?

The Doghouse was a club formerly owned by Sandor “The Hound” Clegane, some eleven or twelve years ago -another one of the city’s bosses.  Petyr saw how profitable it was and bought it years back, deciding to keep the name as it was already established and had a stable clientele stream. 

Petyr sat in the town car looking out the window thinking back to the first time he saw Sansa.  She was stunning in a little black dress, her hair down untamed, and her eyes so sharp and piercing even across the crowded smoky room.  Part of what Petyr noticed about Sansa was that while all the other women were wearing flashy clothes tied to their bodies to keep them on, Sansa was wearing a simple black dress that could have been worn anywhere.  Did she know where she was?  Why wasn’t she trying harder like these other women? 

It was only as he had been asking himself this and staring at her for quite a while that Varys, one of his men said, “She’s Clegane’s – poor girl.  Can you imagine a beauty like that letting The Hound at her?  I mean his face is hamburger!”  Clegane had burns all down the side of his face, a lesson to keep his mouth shut taught by his father – the former head of the Clegane crime family. 

Petyr refused to pity eyes like those, “I’m sure she’s getting something out of it.”  Money.  He had bet money at the time, that’s usually what beautiful women got from ugly men.  He found himself feeling disappointed, that she might be just another money grubbing whore.  He had been staring at her all this time and hadn’t noticed the man sitting to her right was Sandor.  He occasionally dropped his hand to her thigh, or draped an arm across her shoulders.  Other than those occasional gestures, Petyr never would have known that they were together.  She never returned them, simply sitting there smiling and acknowledging the conversation before her.  It was like she was there but not really present.  Petyr bet he could keep her attention.   

At the time, Petyr had come to The Doghouse to deliver Sandor’s drugs.  Petyr had  to cut out the middle man for sampling the product and so he was making the delivery himself to ensure the connection stayed open.  He knew that he had to stop gawking at her and walk over, though his legs felt stuck in molasses.  He gave himself a mental shake and forced an aire of confidence as he approached the couches. 

“Littlefinger.”  Clegane recognized him, baring his teeth to him in what could be considered a grin, “Didn’t think I’d get a delivery from the man himself.”

Petyr focused on Clegane, not allowing himself to look at the striking red head next to him, whose name he still hadn’t known at the time.  He tossed the package of cocaine on the table, “Well, if you want a job done right…” 

Varys cut the bag, dipped the tip of his knife in it, and snorted a small amount of powder to prove its purity.  The Hound watched him closely and Petyr tried not to let his gaze linger on Sansa, who looked bored by the whole encounter, her long slender fingers twirling the silver wolf’s head pendent on her necklace.  Some women might have looked excited to see all that cocaine, or feel a thrill in being a part of the deal going down in front of them.  The redhead leaned back, looking as though anywhere else in the world would be more exciting.  When The Hound was satisfied with the product, he slid the thick stack of money across the table to Petyr. 

Petyr motioned for the wad of bills, and Varys pocketed it.  Petyr knew he should leave but he savored watching her, even if it was in his periphery.  Sandor leaned back and said, “Sansa, show us your tit.  Daddy needs a line off it.” 

Would she?  Would she really allow him the pleasure of that view?  Part of him stood a captive audience aroused over the possibility.  The other part of him didn’t want her to obey, already feeling like she was above that.  He admonished himself in that moment, reminding himself that he didn’t know her to make those judgements about her.  Still, he couldn’t go, not till he found out if she would do it or not. 

She leaned forward and traced her finger down the neckline of her dress.  She was going to do it, he was sure.  A wave of excitement and disappointment hit him simultaneously.  But instead she leaned in, whispering in The Hound’s ear, long hair hanging down offering her a modicum of privacy.  What was she saying?  As she whispered, her eyes flashed to Petyr for the first time.  All this time he was blatantly staring at her, unable to take his eyes off of her as much as he tried to hide it and she just then finally granted him her attention.  His own soft grey-green eyes held her crisp icy blue gaze.  He noticed the naughty grin on her lips as she whispered in another man’s ear. 

The Hound cleared his throat and stood abruptly.  “It’s good seeing you again Littlefinger, we’re bailing,  _ now _ .”  Disappointed, Petyr watched Sandor reach down and guide Sansa up to him, then threw his arm around her and pulled her away.  That was probably the quickest exit he had ever seen Clegane make.  He wondered what she had said to him.  As Petyr left, he noted with fascination how she had avoided exposing her breast and, in fact, had taken control of the situation entirely.  And now he knew a name.   _ Sansa _ .  Exotic, it slithered out of his mouth, soft and sharp all at once.  He remembered the odd feeling of excitement he had felt being able to put a name to the smoldering eyes that met his. 

Smiling at the memory, Petyr noticed the car stop.  They were at The Doghouse.  Petyr scrutinized the parking lot looking for her car but didn’t find it.  Fuck, not here.  Petyr motioned for one of his men to go in and do a sweep for her.  She wasn’t in there either, but what did he expect?  That would be too easy.  His Sansa would make him work for it, especially since it was one of her games.  She always took her time knowing how much toying with him excited him.  

He called to his driver, “Museum of art--now.”  


	3. Galivanting in the Museum of Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of a sudden a smokey female voice to his left took him off guard, “It’s not nice to stare.”

Another dull benefit gala, benefitting what he was unsure, only that all the key players would be there.  Petyr attempted to look at ease in his tuxedo, though his squirming did not help.  His date stood beside him holding her champagne flute, attempting not to notice the fidgeting.  She wasn’t a real date, so he didn’t care if he wasn’t the vision of perfection, beautiful as she was.  Her hair was a soft chestnut color, smoothed over one shoulder giving a warm comfortable look to her.  Her burgundy dress added to that feeling, open down the front allowing for a great view of her chest, breasts spilling slightly out of either side.  Her name was Margaery and he was paying her to be there.  

Over the years Petyr had found dating to be a disappointment, most women couldn’t be taken seriously.  Too much tits and not enough brains.  He knew that he could pick up any woman he wanted at any time simply due to his status, but they were not a guarantee.  He could not control or predict how they would act, whether or not they would embarrass him.  Margaery was a “GFE,” a paid escort that specialized in the “Girlfriend Experience.” She was trained to follow any story he created and sell it to anyone she encountered.  She would accent him, not embarrass him. 

Petyr stood with Varys by the doors to the north side of the grand hall and watched all the big wheels make million dollar deals through their practiced smiles, pausing only to sip their drinks.  Varys watched the pretty dresses pass him by.  In all the years with Varys as his right hand Petyr never could tell if Varys was looking at the women in the dresses or dresses themselves, and it was because of that Petyr would never trust him, but found himself using him for his unreadable qualities more than anyone else. 

It was then that Petyr saw her.  _  Sansa _ .  The redhead that house-broke the Hound.  He didn’t notice at first, she was back-to, her hair up in intricate braids and buns all held together to offer an oddly classic look.  But then she turned around, her lips a shade of red that he had only ever seen on a woman after he kissed her thoroughly, leaving her lips smudged and swollen.  He made a mental note that he would have to find out what lipstick this was and require it of all his bedmates. 

Sandor was close by his crew, all dressed up and slicked back, fooling the world that they were good clean respectable men.  They appeared as though they were important men that didn’t climb their way up stealing truck loads and busting kneecaps.  His eyes tracked Sansa and Petyr observed the Hound watching her, totally enthralled by her.  What was it with this woman?  He split his attention, allowing her another look, she was closer now, somehow.  He hadn’t noticed the shift in the crowd, and with the movement there was an opening and he was allowed a glance at more than just her face.  Her gown was a champagne color to match her drink, glowed warm on her ivory skin.   _ This _ was a vision of perfection, radiating light from head to toe, every hair in place, every line and curve on her body smooth, as if she was sculpted art come to life.  He could suddenly understand Sandor’s fixation. 

Varys spoke first, “Stunning.”  Again Petyr wondered if he meant the girl or the dress.  Before turning to leave Varys continued, “It’s a wonder Sandor allows her so far from his arm.” 

Petyr had already been considering that.  Women either needed to be kept on the arm to stop their mouths from spilling out their ignorance or they had enough between their ears to allow them a longer leash to work the room for you.  He determined that either Sandor was completely thoughtless under her spell or she truly was intelligent enough to be allowed out to play.  Thinking of that lipstick again, Petyr thought about how he’d play with her before he felt the blood rush to his dick and realized he needed to think of other things.  Margaery, his date, yes.  

Actually, thinking about it, Margaery was taking an exorbitant amount of time in the bathroom.  He hoped she wasn’t getting high like the last girl did; he had to take matters into his own hands, and he didn’t want to do that again.  Not in a nice place like this.      

All of a sudden a smokey female voice to his left took him off guard, “It’s not nice to stare.” 

Petyr turned astonished to see Sansa standing next to him.  How did that happen?  It couldn’t have, he was watching her, he thought as he attempted to sidestep the comment.  Petyr’s voice slippery as he dodged, “And who was I staring at?” 

“Me.”  She smiled and tilted her head as if it was obvious, her blue eyes vibrant, not allowing him to look anywhere else but back into them.  “I caught your eye.” 

He offered a gentle chuckle to cover the feeling of his stomach jumping into his chest, “Really?  What makes you think that?” 

“Because you caught mine.”  At her words, Petyr instantly felt a tingle and a growing firmness in response.  

“You are Sandor’s.”  He reminded her, and himself. 

She laughed and took a sip of her drink, using the distraction to break eye contact and survey the room as she said, “Sure.”

He cocked an eyebrow in a questioning look he couldn’t stifle and was about to press for more information before she continued, “We’ve been eyeing each other, our physical needs clearly taking the reins.  So we are left with a dilemma.” 

“Are we?”  To say that he was intrigued was an understatement. 

“Yes, two options really.”  Her eyes sparkled like blue diamonds.  

He waited with bated breath for a response. 

She leaned in to ensure that their words were entirely private.  He let himself inhale the scent of her, rich and alluring, as he listened to her present the options,  “We could fuck it out of our systems.   _ Or  _ we could both retreat now.  No more talking.  No more staring.  You tell yourself I was just another brainless pretty face and I’ll tell myself you were just another big wad of cash with a little dick.” 

Petyr gulped, his throat dry.  He held his hands at his sides purposefully so he wouldn’t adjust himself.  Women didn’t talk like that, not to him.  He went from a growing firmness to full blown ache and need.  He managed to form a word, “And?” 

She straightened herself, pulling away from him a little and said, “I’m going to walk away and say you’re just another ATM with back hair.”  She looked forward at Sandor coming her way and continued in a volume only he could hear, “ _ And _ then I’ll climb on Sandor and fuck you out of my system.” 

Petyr could barely stand, the air leaving his lungs and his mouth open in surprise.  He reminded himself that he was Petyr Baelish and he wasn’t shocked by anything in life.  He planned for all things, all possible outcomes of every action and interaction, and he could make anything profitable.  He started to offer a rebuttal but Clegane approached.  

She went to him so quickly, wrapping her arm around his waist, and running her other hand over his chest.  “I missed you.”  

_ No she didn’t,  _ Petyr thought.  

The Hound kissed the top of her head and though she whispered it, Petyr could hear her say, “I  _ need _ you.”  

_ No she doesn’t. _  Petyr thought, knowing it was him that she really needed, but then again he was starting to think that she didn’t need anyone.  

The Hound’s eyes fired in the way that only the promise of unsolicited sex can light cold dead eyes.  Unfortunately and much to Petyr’s surprise, Clegane was conscious enough to know he should be questioning the situation, “Baelish.” 

Petyr nodded back and raised his glass to meet his smile. 

Clegane continued, “She wasn’t bothering you, was she?” 

Sansa playfully swatted at him, but before Petyr could craft some reason why they had been standing together, she replied.  “I was asking him where his date Margaery was.  I wanted to know where she got her dress.  Isn’t it just gorgeous?” 

Clegane paused, clearly trying to suss out whether she was telling the truth, and then he laughed.  “I wouldn’t know.  I got you, don’t I?”  Petyr loathed to see him slide his hand down her back possessively. 

She leaned into his grasp, keeping her eyes on Petyr as she cooed to Sandor, “Leaving?”

Getting excited over how insistent she was, The Hound finished with Petyr, “I heard the harpies have another shipment coming in for us.  We’ll be in touch.” 

Petyr remembered watching them leave and feeling a heat come over his face.  Little dick?!  Wad of cash – of course she was in it for money, weren’t all women?  It was the fundamental weakness of being born with a hole between their legs, like a bottomless pit, keep throwing money at it but it’s never enough, they always want more.  No thank you, he didn’t need any of that in his life.  And then he remembered the lipstick. 

He got out of his car smirking at the memory of himself all worked up over their first interchange.  And how much Sansa taught him about how powerful women could truly be, at least her anyway.  Racing up the front steps to the museum he got another text message:   _ You have one hour and thirty-one minutes left.  I hope I don’t have to get this “out of my system” all by myself. _

Petyr smiled so wide that his face hurt, oh his Sansa was definitely keeping his attention, even years past the initial intrigue.  At her quoting herself, he wondered for a moment if she had a camera on him.  How else would she know where he was?  For her, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.  But Sansa knew him, inside and out, and proved daily that unlike him, she didn’t require a camera to know his every move. 

He felt a slight shudder in anticipation but knew he had to think more sharply.  He naturally assumed where they first kissed would be next, which meant that she would not be there.  He had too much time left on the clock, so it couldn’t be that easy.  This was going to go to the end, he was going to need every minute.  And then an idea came to him as he got back into his car, “North Route five to Stark-Naked Art Gallery.”

He picked up his phone and scrolled through the contacts until he came upon the name “Mustang Sally.” and he typed,  _ Stark-Naked Art Gallery.  Immediately. _


	4. Stark-Naked Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Before you mar someone, you should know their connections."

It had been weeks and Petyr could not get her out of his thoughts.  There were times when he thought of her as just a money hungry slut ready to slide down anyone’s dick, even a mangled mutt like Clegane.  And then there were times that he knew there was more to her, she was too beguiling to just fuck powerful men for cash.  And that excited him. 

At first, he had Varys report any time he saw her when he was doing pick ups and drop offs under the pretense of not trusting any woman of Clegane’s.  But then it evolved.  He did some research on her and found himself surprised. 

She worked.  Legitimately.  Women who hung around men like Clegane, and Petyr for that matter, didn’t work.  Their only job was to be the perfect accessory:  beautiful, loyal, and readily available.  While Sansa was beautiful and the perfect eye candy to bring around, and the fact that she was working meant she was not at Clegane’s beck and call.  Petyr began questioning her loyalty, and he did so rather hopefully. 

And she had a last name:  Stark.  They were a powerful family always in the news for their charity work.  They even adopted some rescue wolves that they had kept at their estate.  The city remembered them for their clean and compassionate image, but Petyr remembered the Starks for running the whole upper end of the city years prior, the “Stark Wolf Pack.” 

But families came and went, and Ned and Cat were a price of doing business.  Petyr hadn’t any dealings with them, and therefore was not involved in their demise.  At that time he was still building his name in his own eerie part of the city.  But he had heard that while the Starks would deal in stolen goods, firearms, gambling, and prostitution, they would not touch drugs.  Petyr couldn’t blame them, it was always the business ventures involving drugs that had complications.  Sometimes it felt like more trouble than it was worth.  But the fact of the matter was, the largest profits came from drugs.  Accept it, adapt to it, or be thinned out.  And they were. 

Both of their throats were slit in bed.  The news said that the killer was “overzealous” as he cut so deeply into Ned that he almost severed his head.  And the great grey wolf was no more.  Petyr researched further to jog his memory and found that they were survived by five children, quite the little pack.  All scattered to the wind now, victims of circumstance.  Sansa was just a teenager at the time, though Petyr had taken note that she definitely wasn’t anymore. 

The eldest Robb was last known to be out of the country with some woman, swearing away a life of crime.  Petyr looked into it, monthly checks were transferred from Sansa’s account to him.  At first, he considered her financing her brother’s lifestyle as weak, then realized that by doing so she was able to take over the Stark family business and estate.  She was not a victim of circumstance at all and she truly did not need Clegane’s money. 

He continued to wonder why she would link herself to The Hound and why she dismissed  _ him _ , Petyr Baelish.  But had she really dismissed him?  She did say that she wasn’t going to involve herself with him.  But then again she did say  that she would be thinking of him while she rode the Hound.  Fuck!  He felt a burning in his chest at the thought of it.  He fumed over the fact that he cared enough to have such a visceral response. 

While Petyr Baelish currently searching for his wife may be top dog of the whole city, back then he was still rising.  He had dealings across the sea, narrow as it was, it was still quite a feat for a man coming from such an unnoticed part of town.  It helped him to sit at the same table as all the reigning families.  In terms of resources an influence, Petyr matched all of them:  Clegane, the Lannisters, and the Tyrells. 

These equally powerful families had to find ways to co-exist.  Allowing loved ones to work for other families was a show of trust, however tentative.  The Lannisters from the west side had sent one of their boys to work for Petyr as a gesture of good faith.   

Joffery was chosen from their family.  And he was a complete fuck up.  Seriously, the kid couldn’t carry out a simple task without complications arising from his recklessness and his penchant for violence.  He was saved only by the fact that Jaime and Cersei were a powerful enough force that it was not worth crossing them.  Not over their kid anyway.  

Against Petyr’s better judgement, he had sent Joffery out to follow Sansa around.  He had been doing it for a little less than a week, when one day Joffery appeared at Petyr’s office, face swollen, battered and bruised.   Petyr would have questioned who had done this to him if it hadn’t been for the lipstick.  Words were written across Joffery’s forehead in that same shade of red he’d been fantasizing about, and had since learned was called “Fray” by Twin Line Cosmetics.  They read,  _ Stark-Naked Art 8:00 _

She was calling to him in a most enticing way.  Petyr felt the smile reach his eyes.  “What’s so fucking funny?  My goddamned face is wrecked!”  Joffery yelled and stomped his foot like a petulant child. 

Petyr felt fireworks shoot in his belly again at the memory of the first time that she had called to him.  And that was why he was going to the art gallery presently.  So many years later she was still calling to him, and still giving him hurdles to jump. 

He remembered arriving at the art gallery.  He had driven his own car, not trusting even his own driver to see them together.  Hurriedly, he jumped out, reminding himself to calm down, maintain his composure.  He was not the Hound, he would not salivate over her like a dog.  He was surprised to see a man with long dark curly hair standing outside the gallery with his arms crossed.  Who was this man? 

“Jon, you can take a walk if you like.  We’ll be fine by ourselves.”  A familiar voice sounded as she approached both men in front of the gallery. 

The man, apparently Jon, looked at her silently questioning.  When she nodded again, he turned and left.  It was reluctant, but he did leave.  Petyr couldn’t blame him, he wouldn’t have wanted to leave Sansa alone with him either.  

She smiled back, “Baelish, you came.” 

“With an invitation like that, I couldn’t resist.”  And he truly couldn’t, his body vibrating in excitement.  He prayed that she was standing too far away to notice.  He continued, “Invitations like those can be dangerous to send.  Before you mar someone, you should know their connections.” 

She gestured for him to follow her inside, out of sight.  “I do.  He followed me for four days, I had time to figure it out.  That’s why he left with only a beating.”  

Petyr remembered thinking to himself,  _ only a beating?   _ He wondered what was she capable of.   As he followed her back to her office, he said, “I apologize, I should not have sent him to follow you.”

“Why did you?”  She began pouring them drinks from the decanter in her office.  He pictured her using it to ply rich customers considering purchasing the next overpriced canvas she hung in the lobby.  He began to wonder what she was plying him for.  “And don’t lie.  There is truly no point to it, I already know why.” 

Sitting down in the big comfy chair opposite her desk, he reached up and accepted the glass from her.  He watched her lean back against her desk, legs crossed in front of her.  She towered over him as he appreciated the view, her breasts hovering above him.  “There are lots of reasons why I had you followed.  It’s always prudent to keep an eye on a competitor and his companions for one.” 

“And?”  She looked up at the ceiling waiting for an answer, allowing him to see where her jaw connected to her long neck and where it sunk into her clavicle and down further beneath her blouse.  

He realized he hadn’t answered, too busy devouring her with his eyes, when she answered herself, “And I rejected you.  And men like Littlefinger don’t get rejected.” 

“It’s not rejection if I never asked you in the first place.”  He found himself staring at her short skirt, the material rippled down the center at the stress of the tight fit.  And the overcast shadow created by the light where the skirt ended. 

She shifted, leaning forward, “Yet.  It was only a matter of time.  From the way we caught each other’s eye at the Doghouse and then again at the gala.  You having that blonde brat follow me only proves this.  You are showing your hand and you are more skilled than that.” 

His eyes lifted from her skirt surprised by her acknowledgement.  “Excuse me?” 

She looked at him as though he were slow to follow the conversation.  “I know about you.  I’ve looked into you.” 

“And what have you found?”  Petyr leaned forward in his seat, irritation seeping in.  She knew about him?  How?  He had been vigilant about cleaning up after himself.  He had always been prepared for someone to look into him but he had never been confronted with it directly, and never by a beautiful redheaded bombshell like her. 

She smiled and pushed herself up off the desk, turning to walk around, “On paper you’re clean as a whistle.  You  _ look _ really good.  Which means you’re  _ very bad. _ ”  The way she emphasized the last couple of words sent a heat up his body and a need to adjust his collar.  

She continued as she sat down in her chair, the desk between them, “And that interests me.  Keep me interested.” 

Petyr squinted his eyes in confusion, “You’re off the table though, aren’t you?  Being Sandor’s girl.” 

“Don’t worry about Sandor, I don’t.  I do what and who I want.”  She set her drink down on her desk with finality as if that was enough convincing for Petyr to stop thinking about Clegane. 

“Like Jon?”  He couldn’t help the tendril of jealousy growing, reaching out. 

She grinned and shook her head, “Jon is my cousin.  Jon Snow.  Research him as you’ve done me.  You will see that I hired him to be my bodyguard years ago.  A necessity I find when dealing with men like The Hound and yourself.  He goes where I go.  Always will.” 

Ignoring the irritation he felt over the warm way she spoke of Jon Snow, and considering everything she’d said, Petyr gradually came to an unsteady realization, “You want me.”  He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement as it was at the very least a statement that he questioned. 

She laughed and leaned back in her chair.  “You’ve passed the first round, you got my interest.  Now, impress me.” 

“You’ve said it yourself, I’m Littlefinger.  Why should I?  Shouldn’t you be trying to impress me?”  He put it back on her. 

She ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass, “Because I already have.  And it wasn’t just my legs.” 

She was right.  And no, it wasn’t just her legs.  It was everything about her.  From her sparkling blue eyes to her fresh-from-the-fray lips.  Though beneath that surface layer, it was more than how she looked, but more so what she did.   _ She _ looked  _ him _ up.  Researched him as he had her.  No one had ever bothered to learn about him before, at least not anyone he wasn’t in business with anyway.  And then there was what she had done to Joffery, such a beautiful and creative invitation.  On an even deeper level than all that flirting, it was how she got men like Sandor and Petyr to move at her will.   He barely heard her say, “That will be all.”

He looked up and saw her waving him off.  Not used to being dismissed, he hesitated a moment after he stood up.  “I’m sorry again for following you.”  He hoped another apology would impress her, men like him didn’t apologize and women usually spread their legs for an apology. 

“Don’t apologize.  Not for following me, but for not doing it yourself.  I can’t stand lazy men.”  She maintained a placid smile. 

Meeting her challenge, he found himself warning her, “Be careful, I’m anything but lazy.”  He found a smile creeping back to the side of his mouth. 

“Show me.”  She met his intense glare. 

He raged inside of himself, wanting to charge forward, rip her out of her chair, slam her down on her desk and take her there until she forgot any other word but his name.  But he knew that was not the way with her, she outlined her expectations, he couldn’t disappoint.  He turned and left the room before he gave into his primal urges.   

Petyr felt the blood rush at that memory,  when the air was electric and all he could think of was plunging his cock deep inside of her.  It was a need he’d felt a thousand times since in his life with her.  His phone buzzed again:   _ Time is ticking and I need some deep dicking.  One hour and nine minutes.   _

He loved her sense of humor, even if it left him with blue balls.  His driver called back, “Mrs. Baelish’s car and driver are not here sir.  But Mr. Bronn is, sir.”

Petyr took a deep breath, trying to calm the stirring in his cock.  He closed his eyes, taking another deep breath, and then felt the cool air from outside come in with Bronn as he entered the car.  Bronn was older, face scarred with character and experience.  His hair smoothed back but overgrown,  nose rippled with age, old fractures wrongly healed, and a tired look to his eyes that showed just how many trips to the rodeo he’d had.  

Before Petyr could speak, Bronn asked, “Another one of the missus’ kinky head games gone tits up on ya?”

Petyr had learned years ago that Bronn did not edit himself for anyone and that however annoying he could be, he was a solid investment.  Bronn had no allegiance, and worked for the highest bidder.  Petyr had him on retainer and that was the closest to loyalty he would get from him.  “Something like that.”  

Bronn continued, “Well, you called me, so it must be serious.”  

“Anything involving Sansa is serious.”  Petyr realized he was going overboard calling Bronn, but he didn’t like not knowing where his wife was, even if it was on purpose.  Having Bronn at the ready was a comfort.  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”  

Bronn searched his face, looking to see if there was more, “I could go for one, yeah.”  

Petyr leaned forward and said to his driver, “Highgarden Coffee Shop.”


	5. Coffee Shop High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her smile was sinister, “Careful now, you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

As the car drove through the city towards Highgarden, Petyr began to feel the first pangs of doubt.  He knew how meaningful Stark-Naked Art was to him, but he didn’t consider that it may not carry the same weight to her.  It was the first chance she had given him, the first time she offered him the opportunity to work towards winning her over.  Now he was going to the coffee shop where they first kissed.  Was she picking her firsts by what was most meaningful to her?  Or most challenging to him?  

Lots of couples share their first kiss in benign places like coffee shops, becoming romanticised by the simple feat of remembering how they take their coffee.  An increased level of intimacy and commitment from a kiss not quite so chaste, the resulting first kiss.  Though, Petyr and Sansa’s first kiss was not quite so romantic.  It was  _ indecent. _

From the moment Petyr dragged himself out of her office that night, he began thinking of how he would win her.  Coffee recipes would not do it.  While sitting in his private sauna, Bronn knocked on the door and came in with a bouquet of flowers that instantly wilted in the heat.  They were the same flowers he had sent Sansa, orchids.  The card had reservations for the new restaurant Purple Wedding Affair, a place that was booked out a month.  Bronn handed him the flowers and the card, “She said, ‘no thank you, she can make her own dinner.’  Shit luck boss.”  

When it came to Sansa, he had been experiencing a series of “shit luck.”  Everything was returned to him.  Flowers, tickets, jewelry, invitations.  All sent back through the delivery services.  All with their own responses, “Killing flowers is no way to impress.”  “My jewelry box is full.”  “You can do better.”  

Yes he could, he realized.  She was not like other women, she was not  _ common.   _ He started pulling all of his research out for Sansa Stark.  He had the urge to send someone to follow her again, obviously not Joffery.  But he curbed the desire at the memory of her words,  _ I can’t stand lazy men. _

While Petyr always worked hard, during that time in his life particularly, he was working around the clock.  Finding time away from his dealings was in itself an great feat.  Following her around was very time consuming, even more so when considering the higher level of stealth needed to avoid Clegane and his men.  Because, after all, she was still fucking The Hound.  His eye twitching in frustration, Petyr forced himself to push that knowledge aside with the constant promise of it being only temporary.  

Some men, brazen men, would not put up with this.  They would merely kill the competition.  But in Petyr’s case the competition was profitable--Clegane loved to powder his nose, and Petyr knew that killing him now before he could really compete with him would be a cheapshot.  Sansa wasn’t cheap, he needed to roll up his sleeves and do his own dirty work on this.

He found that Sansa always slept at her own place, and as far as he could tell, she was alone.  He wondered why the Hound didn’t want her overnight.  Though, whatever the reason, Petyr found himself grateful.  

With her being home nightly, he was able to see her daily rituals. Every day he camped out in his car or the bushes behind her house, conducting business when necessary from his silenced phone, watching until his own responsibilities pulled him away.  

Petyr’s favorite time was the mornings, when he could watch her sip coffee at her table in her periwinkle blue silk robe, wet hair rested on one shoulder, reading the newspaper.  He would see Jon Snow stand outside her door looking ahead.  A couple of times a week she would slip out her sliding glass door and hand him a plate of toast, before getting ready for work.  Petyr found himself slightly annoyed at her kindness to this bodyguard, cousin or not.  He noted thankfully that he hadn’t ever seen her invite him to her bedroom.  

Sandor,on the other hand, was another matter entirely.  He didn’t come to Sansa’s often, sending a car for her instead.  In fact, in the time Petyr had been watching her, he had only seen the Hound himself at her door once.  Petyr was bewildered to find him breaking it down.  He panicked at first, where the hell was Snow?!  The man never left!  And there he was leaving her completely unguarded,while a broad lumbering beast pounded down her door.  Petyr left his car, yanking his phone out of his pocket, instantly dialing for his men as he ran.   He was almost to her door, a mere fifty feet from Clegane’s back, when he heard a giggle from inside and stopped dead.  Instantly disarmed, Petyr stood silent, realizing any move he made might alert them to his presence.  

Sandor grinned, “Well my little piggy, I’ve blown the door in, will you let me come inside now?”  

What?!  Petyr craned his neck to look past the Hound’s thick torso and was instantly flabbergasted to see Sansa, her hair in long pigtails and curled at the ends, wearing a sheer pink babydoll nightie.  She smiled as she twirled a pigtail and answered in a sultry voice, “Only if the big, bad, wolf has a condom.”  

Petyr twitched with fury, unable to move, feeling utterly impotent.  The Hound, in contrast, was propelled by his fervor and barreled forward.  In one fluid motion, he picked Sansa up and threw her over his shoulder.  She shrieked at suddenly being up ended.  The Hound laughed and slapped her ass, “Squeal little piggy!”  

They were up the stairs and Petyr remained glued in place.  His feelings tumbled through his body, wreaking havoc on his insides.

“What the fuck was that?”  An irritated voice pulled him out of his haze.  Petyr saw Bronn standing to his right, and worked to regain composure.  

He ran his mantra of “she’s not mine, she’s not mine” over and over in his head as he slowly pried his feet off the ground.  Swallowing the nasty taste in his mouth he attempted to sound composed, “False alarm.”  

Bronn rocked back on his heels and threw his arms open, “False alarm!  You’ve got to be kidding me!” 

Petyr turned and walked toward his car, eyes focused forward, blocking everything else out to control his emotions, “You’ll be compensated.  You always are.”  

“Did you just call me to cock-block?”  Bronn rounded on Petyr and grabbed his shoulded, “This chick is doing your head in.  You are fucking lucky he didn’t see you!”

Petyr looked down at the worn and calloused hand on his shoulder.  Slowly, he looked up at Bronn, showing his disdain at being touched and chastised.   

Bronn let go and raised his hand in surrender as he backed away a couple of steps.  Before turning for his own car, he added, “All I’m saying is she looked happy enough, there’s plenty of other redheads to plough.” 

Petyr sneered but Bronn was already in his mustang stealing away.  Two other men approached, too late.  Bronn was always first to arrive, he was also of a generation that believed in working for his money, so it was no surprise that he was always first.  It was a quality that Petyr typically appreciated, though he could have done without it tonight.  He waved the stragglers off and plopped himself down in his car.  

He knew that he should drive away and remove himself from this situation.  For longer than was safe, Petyr sat gripping the steering wheel as he considered Clegane all alone at Sansa’s, fucking her brains out.  He didn’t see any men, and in fact with his own men storming the lawn, anyone Clegane had to protect him would have emerged.  The Hound was completely unguarded, he may never get another chance like this again.  

Petyr pulled his leather driving gloves out of his console and put them on, stretching each finger as he did.  Reaching under his seat, he pulled out his baretta and grabbed the silencer from the glovebox.  He screwed it on as he got out of his car for the second time that night.  In long languid strides, he moved across the road and up the lawn to the back door.  He hadn’t killed anyone himself in over two years, but after seeing the disgusting roleplay earlier, he felt more than ready.  

As he reached the back door, he heard the deep bass beating through a sub-woofer next door.  Loud techno music boomed at an unreasonable volume.   _ Good.  No one will hear.   _ Petyr felt everything lining up.  The cleanest opportunity for the perfect murder.  His hand on the back door when he heard her voice through the glass. 

“You can choose to be offended or you can leave satisfied.”

For the second time that night, Petyr held his breath and gingerly slid to the side of the sliding glass door.  Back pressed firmly against the wall, gun held at the ready, he listened to the Hound appeal to her, “So fucking’s okay, but sleeping isn’t?  You run hot and cold.”

“I already told you. I have an early morning.”  She responded, her voice patronizing. It was obvious even to Petyr on the other side of the wall.  

There was a pause and then finally Sandor asked with growing resentment in his voice, “Who are you fucking?”  

She laughed.  Petyr was incredulous.  Clegane was a loose cannon and she was alone with him, toying with his heart, and laughing at him.  Petyr felt his concern for her safety growing.  

“You think it’s fucking funny!  Whoring around on me!”  The Hound roared.

“No.  I think it’s funny how stupid you can be.”  Unphased, she explained.   

“Watch it.”  The Hound warned her.

“No.”  Her response was sharp.  She continued in a more measured tone, “I fuck who I want, and I just fucked you.  Now you question me because I want some sleep?”  Petyr could hear the reassuring smile in her voice as she said in a lighter tone, “Stupid.”

Petyr heard feet shuffle and the sucking sounds of rejoining.  The Hound’s voice rumbled, “Stupid for you.”

_ Of course you are. _  Petyr thought as he rolled his eyes.  

After another moment, he heard Sandor say, “You don’t have a front door anymore.  It’s not safe for you to be alone.”  

“I’ll call Jon back.”  Her voice soft but determined.  

“Fine.  I wish you’d accept one of my men.”  He was persistent. 

“We’ve been over this.  Go home, Sandor.”  She was more so.

Petyr knew she had succeeded when he heard the heavy footsteps retreat.  After a long silence, in which Petyr was sure that she had gone back upstairs to bed, he pulled himself from the wall and made for his car. No one knew how close he’d been to neutering the mutt.  

Sitting in his car, he replayed the events, noting each time he lost control of himself.  He berated himself for being so impulsive, tossing away years of conditioned composure.  Amidst his review of the night’s events, he realized something, something very important.   _ She kicked the Hound out.  _  As much as they seemed to enjoy themselves, she would not allow Clegane to stay afterwards.  Petyr’s disgust turned to optimism as he started his car.

Over the next week Petyr continued his surveillance, looking for anything to use.  He had to draw her attention to him.  After seeing her ditch the Hound, he felt more confident that if he just paid attention and was thoughtful, he would be able to win her over.  He just needed to play it smart, find the details.  And one day, he did.  He moved money around and pulled in favors, and finally at the end of it all, he believed he had found a way to impress her.  And it wasn’t with concert tickets or flowers.  

For as unpredictable as Sansa was, her devotion to the coffee shop by her work was true.  Every day she worked at the art gallery, she would run out at 10:00 am for her mid morning cup.  She didn’t send anyone on this errand for her, it was something she did for herself.  A few times, Petyr caught her sniffing the air at Highgarden and wondered if she got her own coffee because she enjoyed the smell of the shop.  

This morning, he was waiting for her.  After the barista handed her cup to her, Sansa turned to leave and came face to face with him.  Though he knew she must have been surprised, her facade would not crack.

“Baelish.” She continued walking, and he trailed behind her through the door, quickly rounding in front of her.  

“Sansa.  I would say it’s a surprise seeing you here, but we both know it’s not.”  

Her eyes flashed at him suddenly interested, “Do we?”  

“We do.”  The side of his mouth smiling.  

She paused allowing this new information to process.  She then changed gears, “Why have you come out of the shadows?  Are you ready to impress?”  

He knew that he should toy with her as she did with him, but he was overcome with excitement as he held a folded newspaper up to her face.

He could hear her  sigh as a bored voice asked, “What am I looking at?”

“Foreclosures.”  Petyr replied simply, trying to calm his growing elation.  

She paused as she skimmed the foreclosed homes in front of her.  Petyr continued, “Recognize any properties?”  

She did.  Her neighbors, the ones in which she wasn’t a fan.  She placed her hand gently but firmly around his wrist to guide the paper away from her face.  Petyr’s skin buzzed with excitement as he realized that this was the first time they had ever touched.  For a brief moment, he considered the fact that he had almost killed a man for a woman he had never even touched before now.  

He gave himself a mental shake to not allow himself to travel too far down that line of thought.  He heard her say, “Why?”

Petyr explained that in all the weeks of watching her, he had noticed that her neighbors were terrible; music blaring at all hours, dog shitting on her lawn, trash cans left at the curb, etc.  “Because they irritated you, most wouldn’t have noticed, as you repeatedly let the issue drop.  But you have some tells.”  

That got her attention, “My tells?”

“You rub your temples when you are annoyed, your smile pulls more the left when you are toying with someone, and you smooth your hands over your sides whenever you feel the person before you is beneath you.”  He was so quick to rattle some off, having memorized all that he had learned.  “For whatever reason, you decided to ignore how annoyed you’ve been.  I choose them to let you know you are not ignored.”  

“You may have been watching, but you clearly learned nothing.”  She pressed.  

Petyr tipped his head, “Oh?”  

“So you paid someone off.  Not exactly anything impressive.”  She dismissed him as she maneuvered around him.  

“No.”  He said sharply stopping her.  “No, I didn’t just throw money at this.  I pulled strings, used connections, and got the bank to evict them.  They were not given a dime and they’re humiliated and homeless because their dog dared to shit on your lawn.  How many people do you know have that kind of influence?”  

Her pause was momentary, a small smile forming to the side.  “Fine.  One date.”  

He looked incredulously, “That’s it?  Did you make Clegane work this hard too?”  

“For someone trying to get in my pants, you talk an awful lot about him instead.  Should I let him know you’re  _ interested _ and just too shy to say?”  Her voice was mocking, but her message clear.  

Petyr paused.  He knew he should quit while he was ahead.  He had a date.  Weeks of work yielded fruitful.  Rationally, he understood that he should leave and relish the victory of a date.  But he couldn’t.  Maybe it was because for weeks he had watched from afar and finally now he was afforded the opportunity to look into the azure  pools of her eyes up close.  Or it may have been that a simple gesture of placing her hand on his wrist sent a wave of awareness through his whole body.  But Petyr could not stop himself from gasping, “How can you stomach letting him touch you?  He’s hideous.”  

Petyr knew before he said it that it was going to be his undoing though he could not back down.  He said it.  It was out there.  

Her smile was sinister, “Careful now, you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”  

His date probably gone, he had nothing to lose.  Weeks of wanting to have her in all ways, to hear speak to him, to feel her touch on him, smell her scent, taste all of her, had driven him reckless as he pushed forward, “I can understand a whore having to suffer through, but you choose it!   _ Why?! _ ”

Fuming through her facade of dispassion, “Maybe it’s that I don’t have to feel guilty grinding my cunt on a face like that.”   

Petyr surged forward, pinning her against the wall as he laid his palms flat against the brick behind her.  Her arms flapped out in either direction, surprised by the new position.  Petyr’s lips crushed into hers as he tugged hungrily at her bottom lip and felt a groan escape as her teeth grazed his top lip.  Was that sound him or her?  They were falling completely into each other and he couldn’t tell.  Both their tongues slid over their abused lips to soothe them and coax them open further.      

The space between their bodies felt vast and their hands remained frustratingly occupied by coffees, clutches, and unforgiving brick and mortar.  Their mouths were their only link after an eternity of longing.  Both moaned as their tongues danced for dominance, neither knowing which they preferred:  to kiss or be kissed.  

Petyr started to lean further into the kiss, hoping to allow his throbbing erection the opportunity snuggle up to her, though was disappointed when he felt a sharp pain on his lip.  He yanked his head back suddenly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion trying to understand what had happened.  She rested her head back on the wall, her lips that perfect shade, and she said, “Squeaky-clean Baelish has got a dirty mouth.”

He lifted his hand to his mouth and saw some blood from her bite.  He sucked his lip to stop the bleeding and allowed her to move away from the wall.  She started to walk away, and threw back over her shoulder, “You can pick me up at work at 8 tonight.”  

Riding in his town car, lost in the memory, Petyr felt his dick strain against his pants.  Shifting to relieve some of the pressure, Petyr was reminded that Bronn was accompanying him.  Bronn was too observant, “Do you need some time alone?   I can go on my own.  In fact, now that we’re on the subject, I don’t know how much good I am to you here.”  

As they pulled into Highgarden Coffee Shop Petyr scanned the outside from his seat and motioned for Bronn to go in.  As he left the car, Petyr felt the familiar buzz, “ _ Fifty-two minutes left.  Which hand should I use?” _

Petyr inhaled and closed his eyes, remembering all the times he watched her touching herself for the cameras in their bedroom.  He let his hand drape over his lap, offering himself the weight of his own hand as resistance and pressure.  He heard a throat clear outside his door and snapped to attention.  He silently thanked his luck that the windows were tinted as he pushed the button to roll them down.  

“Not here.  Same as before.”  Bronn sighed, bored with this titillating game.  “Why don’t you let me find her for you and get this whole thing over with?”  

Petyr typed in,  _ Left.  Save the right.   _ And then he agreed with Bronn, “Okay, go find her.  Stay close by and make sure she stays safe.  Text me when you find her, do not tell me where.”  

Bronn shook his head, “You two are fucking made for each other.”  He stepped away from the car and waved down a cab to take him to his newer model mustang.  

“White Harbor Warehouse.”  Petyr tried to keep calm as he directed his driver.      

  



	6. Wading Through White Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of nowhere, he blurted, “I won.”

The car rolled to a stop in front of Stark-Naked Art Gallery.  Sansa stood outside looking regal in a beige dress, fitted to her slender frame, accented only by a fur wrap draped around her shoulders and hanging from the crook of her elbows.  The fur was an off-white with a grey hue running along the center.  It looked nothing like the minks he’d seen other women wear.  He wondered what kind of fur it was.  

The driver opened the car door for her and she stepped in carefully.  Startlement was apparent on her face as she realized that Petyr was in the car as well.  She must have been used to riding alone whenever Clegane sent for her.  

It had only been a mere ten hours since Petyr had seen her last, but feeling as though eternity had passed, he would have easily said it had been days since Highgarden.  They sat side by side, faces exploring each other, not knowing what to say.  Petyr rose to his position by manipulating people, mastering verbal seduction and combat.  Likewise, Sansa’s tongue was one of the sharpest.   And yet here they were, after weeks of anticipation, alone together.  And speechless.    

The passing street lights lit up their faces, highlighting Sansa’s cheek bones and Petyr’s silver fox streaks.  Petyr broke the silence, though he would not break his gaze from her.  “You are a vision.”  

She raised her eyebrow at him and offered him a dimple in response.  Was she not used to flattery?  If she were his, she would be.  

“Where are we going?”  She asked, changing the subject.  

“It’s a surprise.  I’ve been busy all day getting the details together.”  He offered her a boyish grin, showing an ounce of vulnerability.  

She offered him more dimples and softened her voice as she looked down and said, “I hope I’m dressed appropriately for it.”  

 _Is she flirting?_ “You’re perfect.”  Petyr eyed her up and down, allowing himself to take her in again.   

She noticed his full body scan and decided to change the subject, “How’s your lip?”

Reminded of the pain from earlier, he traced his tongue over it.  As he tasted the wound, he couldn’t stop himself from remembering the kiss itself.  It was unrivaled.  “I’ll survive.”  

“Will you?”  She asked quickly.  Her smile remained in place, but there was something more beneath it.  Petyr couldn’t say exactly, but he thought it might be worry.  

“That’s quite the question.”  He decided to fish a little.   

She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and looked away for a moment as she acknowledged, “Your profession is pretty high-risk.”

She was concerned!  Petyr realized that if she was concerned, that meant that she cared.  For weeks he had been watching her, studying her, and falling deeper into his desire for her.  He slid all his chips on red and let it ride, while she was still deciding whether or not to bet at all.  To know that she was invested enough to show concern gave Petyr the mettle to nuzzle his knee against hers, “Of course it is, but it’s also not without it’s perks.  Money and power aside.”  

“What else could there be?”  She asked, confused, looking up from their knees.  

His eyes caught hers and locked on them, not allowing her to look away as he uttered one word, “You.”  

He said it.  And it hung in the air.  She didn’t try to pretend that she didn’t know what he meant or to deny it.  She merely sat there, eyes looking back at his.  

He felt he should continue, “A woman who runs with the Hound, and is willing to be with me, only goes for high rollers.”  

“It’s a date.  I never said that I would ‘ _be with_ ’ you.”  She clarified as she blinked and straightened her posture.    

Petyr took note of her uncomfortable body language.  He was losing her.  He decided to give a confident smile that he didn’t feel as he tried to explain.  “People like us don’t date.  We meet, make a connection, and worship each other’s bodies--sometimes we make it a regular occurrence.  But what we don’t do, is _date_.”  

She pulled her knee away from his and changed tactics, which he could only assume was to dismiss him, “Do we really need to define something to know that it’s substantial?”

“Substantial?”  He took her hand in his and rubbed it with his thumbs.  “You use the term ‘date’ to distance yourself from what this is.  You’re doing this to slow it down and stretch it out, but you’re assuming it’s something that would burn out quickly.”

She looked down at her hand in his and remained silent.  

Hoping to get a response, he continued, “Date implies the opportunity to build up to something more.”  And then he smiled as he vocalized his realization, “You want more.”  

She turned to look out the window, though did not remove her hand from his.  She spoke against the glass of the window.  “Not, necessarily.”  She turned back towards Petyr and looked through him, “Maybe I just want to have a little fun before Sandor and I tie the knot.”  

Petyr’s eye twitched at the excruciating thought.  And then he noticed the left side of her mouth was perked up--she was toying with him, if not being entirely dishonest.  “You’re lying.”  He said in an even tone.  

Her smirk disappeared and she held his gaze as he lifted her hand and kissed it before saying,  “You’re not dense enough to shackle yourself to someone so permanently.”

Allowing her guard down for an instant, she asked, “Is it so wrong to want someone to share it all with?”  

Petyr considered her question and then cocked his eyebrow, “And that’s what you’re doing with Clegane?”  

She rolled her eyes and began to take her hand out of his.  “In case no one has ever told you before, it’s bad form to talk about the person your date is seeing, _on the date._ ”  

He gently tugged her hand, not letting it go.  He could have offered her some quip about not dating people that you aren’t seeing, but this wasn’t about being cute or right.  He was getting somewhere with her and he wasn’t about to lose his spot.  “I’m just trying to figure this out.  You are leagues outside of him, and yet you allow him the pleasure of touching you,” He stroked her hand in his with this fingers.  “Of smelling you,”  He lifted her fist to his face inhaling her hand cream, the scent reminding him of a rainy day.  He rested his cheek against the back of her hand.  “Of kissing you,”  He turned and kissed her fist.    

She crossed her legs and took a shallow breath.  “Sex is great, but I want more.  He’ll give me more.”  

“More?”  Petyr was connecting the dots and couldn’t hide his surprise at such a common feminine desire, “You want _marriage?_ ”  

Petyr coveted the angry blush that rose from her chest, up her throat and into her cheeks as she retorted, “I want a _merger_.”  

“Merger?”  Petyr had never heard women talk of marriage in business terms.  He felt thankful that she may at least be practical about such a thing.   

She searched his face, clearly weighing out whether or not to explain further.  Her hesitancy to explain her motives told him that they were either malevolent or self-serving, and that peaked his curiosity.  

“You have nothing to lose in sharing this with me.”  He used her own words from before to coax her.  “What am I going to do?  Go running to the Hound and tell him the master plan you shared with me, on our _date_?”  He laughed dryly.    

She remained silent, still considering, still searching him for a place that she could put some trust.  

He nudged her gently, “I think I’ve been pretty obvious about my desire for you.  All of you.  And if there’s a chance in hell you want me too, then tell me why you’re with him.  Help me understand what I’m up against.”

She took a deep breath and said firmly, “I am a Stark.  And that used to mean something.”  She picked at their hands joined.  He couldn’t tell if it was just mindless while she exposed her secret motives, or if it was that she wanted her hand back.  He resolved to keep hold until she pulled away.  He considered even then holding on, as it gave him a deep satisfaction to keep this connection to her.  

“Yes, your family ran the whole upper end of the city.”  Petyr acknowledged, as his memory brought him back to a time when he was not yet Littlefinger but aspiring to be, one job at a time.  

“My parents were not reckless.  They had planned for all eventualities.  The estate was cleaned up, completely legitimized upon their…”  She halted, clearly unable to complete that thought.  

With his other hand, Petyr reached up and gently caressed the side of her face, “Old wounds hurt the most.”

“I want back in.”  Her voice was deep and her tone biting.  There was no toying here, no manipulating.  This is what she wanted.  As far as he could tell, this was her end game.

Petyr’s hand drew back from her face, still not letting go of her hand with his other as he inhaled her scent.  The wheels in his mind began turning and it suddenly became apparent: power!  She wasn’t fucking Clegane for his money, it was for his position.  He would be a fool if he allowed himself to think that she was humoring him with a date for any other reason than his own position in this city’s organized crime.  “And you want it bad enough to partner yourself with slime?”  

As she looked back at him, her eyes glazed over in a distance, “You couldn’t fathom the things I’d do.”

She looked a million miles away, disconnected.  It was eerie and it made him stifle a shudder.  What had she done?  He stopped himself from asking her.  There would be time for that later.  He needed to focus on the task at hand.  “Why him?  If it’s just connections, getting back into the life, why not someone else?  Did I not cross your mind?”  

She returned her attention to him and spoke matter of factly, “Well, process of elimination.”  

“You eliminated me!”  He tugged her hand playfully.   

She offered a soft chuckle to humor him as she continued, “Clegane has the upper end, you have the east side, the Tyrell’s to the south, and the Lannisters to the west.  There’s no room for someone new unless I merge into one.”

Petyr tugged her hand again as he offered a mischievous grin, “Eligible bachelor, right here.”

Sansa rewarded him with a smile for his light-heartedness despite being told he was unworthy.  “The Lannisters are too busy fucking each other -- and honestly, are so tightly bound, you’d think they were blood.  The Tyrells aren’t a possibility as the brother is gay and the sister is very much not so.  Which leaves you and Clegane.”  

Petyr shifted forward in his seat, “Please go on.  I want to know what it was that made you  overlook me.”

“I told you, I looked into you.  And I found that after the first couple uses, you tire of a woman’s company.  Sandor’s violence comes from his passion.  Working on him was the easiest, most natural move to re-establish myself.”  She spoke as if they were discussing the weather.  

Petyr wanted to say that all the women he had been with before now were horribly disappointing and that it should be held against them, not him.  But he didn’t.  As they felt the car stop he knew he would continue, the matter wasn’t closed yet.

Sansa looked around compulsively.  “Where are we?”  

Petyr let go of her hand, motioning to her to exit the vehicle with him close behind.  She stood up and looked at the building before her, her voice wry as she said, “White Harbor Warehouse.  Interesting place for a date, Baelish.”  

She turned, clearly to ask why he was taking her to a warehouse on their date.  Though she did not get the chance.  Petyr was already jumping to explain, “You said you want back in.  Come see at what “ _in”_ looks like.”  

Petyr took her hand again and lead her into the warehouse.  He watched her eyes widen as she looked around.  People were stacking crates of firearms, and bags of cocaine were being unpacked.  A small team of men worked the goods over as Petyr guided Sansa through what she was seeing.  “I have dealings with The Harpies across the water, sunny place, great for growing product.  If there is something illegal coming into the city, it’s from them, funneled through me for a small ‘connection’ fee.”

She took the room in, surveying all the illegal activity before her.  “What about the others?  Sandor said that there was another shipment coming through from The Harpies.  Obviously he’s got a connection.”  

Petyr couldn’t hide his smirk.  He admired how observant she was and how her brain connected the information.  “Yes, he does _think_ he has a connection.  They all do.”

She tilted her head in question and Petyr, for the first time, wanted to tell somebody about one of his schemes.  Petyr had always lacked the capacity to trust, but in all his time spent in pursuit of Sansa, he was learning to trust certain qualities of hers.  Like her appreciation for manipulation.  She wouldn’t tell his secrets, if for no other reason than that she would enjoy seeing a well-crafted play.  “I have commissioned a separate group to play the part of the Sons of the Harpy.”

“Who are they?”  She asked, curiosity getting the better of her.  She clarified, “The fake Sons?”  

He relished her interest in his work.  “Just some other gang, the Second Sons, or something like that.  They’ll do anything for a dime.  I pay them a pittance to pretend to be Sons of the Harpy to the rest of the families.”  

“And why would you do that?”  She walked over to a crate of firearms and ran her fingers over an automatic rifle with the serial number chiseled off.  

He moved to stand next to her and rustled through the packing straw.  “Because when they receive terrible service through their own connections and perfect service through mine, they will begin to depend on me for the certainty I can provide.”  

She watched as he pulled out a small handgun and began inspecting it.  “Why bother with all of this?  Why give them false connections?  The reality of the situation is that they have no one and you do.  They will rely on you because of that anyway.  What difference does it make if they know they are being extorted or not?”  

“You’re vicious.”  He laughed and handed her the gun.  “Hold this.”  

She picked it up and held it with two hands, aiming at the center of the blackened window in front of them.  She had closed one eye to look through the sights and didn’t notice him leaving her side.  She startled mildly when she felt his body enclose hers, pressed against her back, moving his arms around hers, holding his hands over her grip on the gun.  In a smooth voice, he continued his explanation while he adjusted her hand placement.  “If people think they have someone already, they don’t go looking for them.”  

He breathed heavy at how wonderful she felt, little spoon to his big.  Her bottom nestled against his pelvis, he didn’t try to hide his erection.  He also didn’t impose it on her--she was holding a gun, after all.  “If they realized they had no one at all, and were completely reliant on me, they may be more motivated to try to reach out across the sea.  Now that they think they have someone, even if it is someone they are not satisfied with, they will be less likely to put the effort into long distance networking.  And everything continues to go through me, so I profit regardless.”

She stood focused on her target while in his embrace.  She did not melt into him as he would have hoped so he decided to push a little.  “Your stance.”  He wedged one leg between hers and gently nudged them apart, as far as her skirt would allow.  He left his thigh pressed against her, “You’re stronger with your legs spread.”  

He felt her shiver in response and his stomach jumped in excitement.  She was responding to him!  She could attempt to be cold and unfeeling, telling him any relationship would be a business deal, all she wanted, but she was enjoying this.  Enjoying _him_.  He took his hands off of hers and brought them to her sides, holding gently.  He leaned further in and placed his lips against her neck.  

Bang!  A shattering sound followed as the window pane fell apart.  Everyone working dropped to the floor.  In reflex, Petyr wrapped his arms around her abdomen tight as a vice, and covered her with himself as much as he could.  After a moment, when there were no more shots, Petyr opened his eyes and noticed the smoke coming out of the gun in her hands.  Realizing what had happened, he laughed out loud.  

“Get up.  Back to work!”  Varys called from a dark corner of the warehouse.  Where had he come from?  That man was like a spider, everywhere.  Petyr stopped laughing and looked at Varys, motioning for him to come over.  

Sansa placed the gun back in the crate.  Petyr assumed she’d be embarrassed, and almost waited for some nervous apology.  Instead, she remained reserved.  

Taking his eyes off of her for a moment, Petyr noticed Varys approach them.  Petyr inquired, “Is the surprise ready?”

Varys nodded, placing his hands in his suit pockets.  “The wrapping took a while.”  

Petyr smiled and turned to Sansa, “Come, I have a present for you.”  

“Present?”  She gave a skeptical look.  

Varys smiled proudly, “You’ll like it--it’s very thoughtful.”  

She nodded at Varys and took Petyr’s outstretched hand.  She offered Petyr a questioning smile as he guided her around the corner to the small warehouse office.  A man was tied to a chair, broken nose, blood streaming down his face.  His hair, a wet, curly brown mop, bounced as he sobbed beneath the duct tape gag.  

“Who’s this?”  She asked, looking him over nonchalantly.  Petyr wondered if she recognized him.  

After giving her a moment to see if she would realize on her own, he explained, “This is Ramsey.  And he used to be your neighbor.”  

She let go of his hand and crossed her arms, “Didn’t you already punish him?”  

Petyr smiled and gestured for his man to beat Ramsey some more.  Blood splattered and fell in a two foot radius of the chair.  Petyr watched her for response, “He upset you, and therefore I am cross with him.”  

She turned, arms still folded, and raised an eyebrow.  

Petyr continued, “People who I am cross with pay.  They pay dearly.  And they pay until they die.”  

The muffled screams got louder as the beating continued.  Petyr watched Sansa drop her arms and advance on him.  He barely caught her as her mouth covered his, a welcome assault.  He felt her arm hug him tightly as her other hand cradled the back of his head, fingers digging into his scalp.  No woman had ever held him like that before.  

His mouth moved in rhythm with hers, his body tingling in response to the warm wetness of her kiss.  His hands traveled down her backside, cupping and squeezing her ass.  He felt her panty line end across her cheeks and realized she was wearing the type that allowed for flesh to peek below.  He pictured her ass spilling out of her underwear and he groaned as he tightened his grip below her panty line and pressed his cock against the front of her dress, hoping he was lined up perfectly to give her the same pleasure he felt.  She exhaled suddenly, breaking their kiss, her eyes fluttered closed as her head fell to the side.  Petyr grinned against her exposed neck, taking her change in breathing as a sign of just how perfectly positioned he was.  

As he trailed kisses up behind her ear, he felt her hands move to his chest.  He felt confined by his clothes and wished she would unbutton his shirt.  He needed to feel her skin against his.  Her hands on his chest grew firmer, providing resistance.  Petyr raised his head from her neck and searched her eyes in question.  

She turned her gaze back to Ramsey in the chair, now unconscious from blood loss, and bit her lip as she smiled.  Petyr refused to release her from her grasp, his eyes lusting over her.  She spoke with a slight blush.  “No one’s ever done this for me before.”  

He wanted to tell her that he would do this a thousand times over for her.  He wanted to tell her that if she chose him, this was just the tip of the iceberg.  But before he could say any of those things, she separated herself from him completely.  Before, he had wished he were naked, and at that moment, he felt it.  Naked and cold from the loss of her touch.  

“This was fun.”  She smiled and pulled her fur around her shoulders again.  

Out of nowhere, he blurted, “ _I won._ ”  

“Excuse me?”  she smiled and offered a questioning expression.  

He wanted to hide from the embarrassment of his impulsivity.  He sounded like a bratty child swept away in his wave of passion and rejection, “You want me.  You choose me.  But Clegane is stupid and easy to control.”  

She stood motionless with a false smile fixed on her face.  Already feeling ridiculous, Petyr pushed once more, “Or maybe you liked what you felt and you’re worried that if we finally fucked, it’d all be over.”  

“I’ve been fucking you since the moment I saw you.”  Her words smacked him in the face and groin.  

She turned to leave and Petyr found words, “Let me call the car.”  

“No need.  Jon’s outside.”  She gestured through the outer wall.  

Petyr thought back, wondering when she had the opportunity to text him her location, but then realized she must have had him follow behind.  It was the smart thing to do.  He made a mental note to chastise his driver for not noticing Jon tailing them.  Pulled from his thoughts, Petyr stopped her, “Wait.”  

He took her hand and pulled her back over to the crates.  He fished out the gun she fired, turned the safety on and handed it to her.  “Keep it.  It’s a Beretta, just like mine.  It fits you well.”  

She looked down at the gun in her hand for a moment before reaching up to kiss his cheek, “And someday we’ll see how well you fit.”  

Petyr’s eyes flashed at the realization of what she was saying.  He turned, hoping to catch her up in his grasp again, but was disappointed to see her just out of reach.  When she got to the door, she looked back, and gave a smile that reached up to her eyes, “I had a great time.”  

Petyr sat in his car, staring at the door to White Harbor, the now deserted warehouse where they had their first date.  Petyr’s phone buzzed:   _Forty-One minutes left.  My tits are so heavy, hold them for me?_     

Petyr’s thumb rubbed into the side of his phone as he pictured her nipples standing at attention for him.  He typed back:   _Always, and they are MY tits -- they belong to me._

Now.  They belonged to him now.  He didn’t mention the memory of when they hadn’t.  He dialed Bronn, “Have you found her?”  

“Yes,” an incredibly bored voice sounded over the phone.  “I take it you haven’t.”  

Petyr didn’t answer at first and then said, “And _I take it_ she’s safe?”  

“Yes.  You really don’t want me to tell you where she is?”  Bronn sounded surprised.  

Petyr did want him to, very much so.  But he respected her game.  “Do not tell me.  Stay close by her.”  

“She’s perfectly safe.  And she has her man Snow around too.”  Bronn pouted.

Petyr didn’t care if Bronn didn’t find the work engaging enough, he was being paid.  “And I told you to stay close anyway.  You’re always compensated, it’s not exactly a hardship to you.”  

“Okay, okay.  I’ll keep the missus safe while you keep traipsing down memory lane.  Speaking of memories, have you ever tried looking where you first fucked?  Wife like that – that’s the first place I’d have looked.”

Petyr hung up on him.  He sneered to his driver, “Bannerless Brother’s Limo.”   


	7. Riding Unveiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr tugged her face towards his with both of his hands, “Stay with me.”

It had been four days since their date when Petyr received word from Varys that Sansa was at Unveiled, one of his strip clubs.  With the Hound.  Petyr gritted his teeth.  He knew that she never promised to leave Clegane, and he knew her motives for dealing with him.  While he was comforted that there didn’t appear to be any real desire there, he still found a seething rage creep up inside of him whenever he was confronted with the fact that she was with the  _ mutt _ .   

Part of him chastised himself for being so jealous.  Petyr Baelish was cool and calculated, not ruled by emotion, and especially not by jealousy.  He told himself that he did not rise to his position by passion.  And then there was the other part of him.  The part of him that knew what it felt like to be pressed against her, how cunning she was, and how receptive she was to his touch.  Both sides of him warred as he walked through the back door of Unveiled.

The back end of the club held some facilities, a couple of offices and a supply closet.  Petyr entered the supply closet, shutting the door behind him.  Stepping over jugs of bleach and pushing  mop buckets aside, he pulled back a Workplace Safety poster on the wall.  Behind it was a small window no bigger than the size of a tablet.  On the other side, it looked like a mirror meant to help with lighting for the dancers.  

Petyr scanned the club, looking for the fiery-red mane and the disfigured mutant that would be crowding it.  Nothing.  Where was she?  Varys’ information was always reliable.  Squinting his eyes hoping to see the details more clearly, he scanned the club again.  He was just about to give up, bawling his fist against the wall, when there was a shift in the crowd and he caught a flash of flaming-red hair and a scintillating gun-metal halter-top draped over two full, round breasts.  He had not been able to fully admire them before as they were always more modestly covered than he would have minded.    

His eyes grown wide, taking in the whole view of her.  Their booth was the closest one to the wall, and therefore the last place he saw as his eyes roved the room, but the best place for her to be.  He could see her so clearly there, her hair untamed and her makeup dark, bewitching.  She crossed her long slender legs and from his little window he was able to see the cut of her calves and the muscle of her thighs peeking out from the bottom of the tight black spandex skirt.  She was wearing her silver wolf pendant necklace again, resting between her voluptuous breasts.  He wondered if she would always wear that necklace or if she only wore her mascot until she got back her place in the city.  

Looking at the siren sitting in his club and the Hound shipwrecked beside her, Petyr yearned for her to leave Clegane behind and follow him.  It made sense that she would go for the person already in control of the north side, it was the most direct route.  It was a lucky bonus for her that Clegane was such a short-sighted moron.  If she played along, smiling, kissing,  _ fucking _ …  “Grr!”  Petyr grunted and banged his fist against the wall.  He quickly looked through the two-way mirror to see if anyone had noticed his momentary loss of control.  He was fortunate that the music and bass was turned up too loud for anyone to hear anything further than a foot away.  

He took a deep breath to center his thoughts and calm himself.  He begrudgingly appreciated what she was doing and the thought behind it.  But, he wanted her to know that she didn’t need the Hound to get her power back.  Petyr wanted nothing more than to hold her beside him, share his power with her.  He thought of her sending a battered Joffery back to him covered in lipstick and her potent voice as she said “ _ only _ a beating.”  Petyr had known that night that she would fit in a world like his, as she was not another trophy wife to be kept in the dark.  He remembered how she besieged his body over the bloody pulp that was her neighbor in front of them.  She wouldn’t just fit in this world, she was made for it.  He knew she wanted the north, but he hoped she might become interested in the east as well.  

Back when he first became obsessed with the silver-tongued goddess in the champagne dress, he learned her details, including her phone number.  He hadn’t used it because she hadn’t given it to him, but standing there watching her smile at the strippers parked in front of her and Clegane, he started pulling his phone out of his pocket.  

She was on his favorites screen, even though he had never once dialed her.  He put her under “Brainless Pretty Face,” hoping that if she ever saw it she would laugh at the reference.  He hovered above her name, trying to decide whether or not to go through with it.  Sandor was sitting right beside her, what if looked at her phone?  No.  She wouldn’t have his number, he had never given it to her.  If the Hound saw it, he would think it was just a wrong number.  

Petyr watched as Clegane stuffed some cash down the back of one of his girls’ g-string before leaning back and throwing an arm around Sansa.  She smiled, reaching up and loosely interweaving her fingers in his hanging hand.  Petyr observed the familiar gesture that they shared and he found himself scowling and noting with a smirk how loosely she gripped the Hound.  She didn’t want this contact.  Feeling a warm pressure in his chest, he reminisced over the entire car ride where she held her hand in his, contented.

Sandor leaned over her, obstructing Petyr’s view, giving her a deep kiss, resting his other hand on her leg.  Petyr started mentally cataloguing where he had hidden guns throughout the club.  Sandor pulled back away, looking in the other direction towards one of his men.  Petyr spied Sansa smooth her free hand down her side, picking slightly at her skirt.  

Petyr smiled knowingly and typed,  _ He’s beneath you. _

He watched her look down at her clutch sitting beside her.  She unlaced her fingers from the Hound, giving him a quick smile as she pulled her phone out.  Sandor turned quickly at the loss of contact with her, and Petyr understood what he was going through.  It was a terrible feeling when she detached herself from him.  

Sansa held up her phone quickly waving it to show Sandor and he nodded slightly and went back to his conversation with the man to the right.  Petyr watched a large grin break out on her flawless face and her dimples appear as she looked down at her phone.  She typed an answer, then looked up and glanced to either side, attempting to not be noticed.  

His body vibrated with excitement at her reaction to his message.  He looked down at his phone,  _ Jealous you aren’t? _

_ Exceedingly. _  He typed, eyes fixed on her dimples, his pants growing tighter from her flirty text.  

Sandor turned into her, motioning at her phone.  Sansa showed him her phone and nodded as he spoke to her more.  Sandor turned back away, seemingly satisfied by whatever false message she showed him on her phone.  Once again, Petyr was impressed by her quick thinking and ability to manage a potential situation.  

_ Where are you? _  She typed, still looking around but trying to be discreet about it.  

Petyr smiled at her persistence,  _ Watching.   _

Her smile pulled more to the left as she typed.  Petyr knew that smile.  She was toying with him,   _ Want to see something? _

Fuck yes.  His neck was getting stiff looking through that small window, but he didn’t care.  Sansa was playing with him!  She put her phone down and fished some cash out of her clutch, straightening all the bills out and holding them in one hand.  She smiled as she pulled some money off the stack she carried, raised it in the air and motioned for one of his girls to come over.  

That got Clegane’s attention.  He and his men turned to watch the beautiful firecrotch signalling a stripper.  Petyr sighed, he didn’t know what he expected.  He knew she was toying with him, of course she would think it funny to feed Sandor more women.  Petyr rolled his eyes at the eager look on Sandor’s face.   

Though much to both Clegane and Petyr’s surprise, that was not what was happening, she was not calling the girl for him at all.  Sansa slowly lifted one leg off of the other, and spread them wide.  Petyr pressed his forehead to the frame of the little window trying to see inside the shadowy cave her skirt created.  Some of Clegane’s croneys attempted to creep around from the side to get a view, though they ducked back away once Sandor barked at them.  

Sansa’s eyes were hooded with a lustful look at the dancer, Marei was her name.  Foreign girls were always more affordable.  Petyr pushed his business sense aside as he focused on the show before him.  Sansa crooked her finger, gesturing for her to come stand between her legs.  Marei did as instructed, and leaned her ear towards Sansa’s mouth.  She nodded her understanding.  Petyr watched as Sansa leaned back in her seat.  She clutched the stack of bills, legs still spread imposing Marei between them.  

Marei began dancing, occasionally placing her hands on Sansa’s thighs as she slid down to a crouch and then swayed her way back up.  Sandor tried to include himself by holding one of Sansa’s legs and leaning into her.  Petyr cursed him for spoiling such a great show with his vileness.  

Sansa sat up, pushing him away with the motion and crouched forward.  She held up more bills and Marei took them gladly.  That money was not free, Sansa picked at the drawstring beneath Marei’s top and slowly pulled it apart.  The top fell loosely to either side of her breasts.  

Clegane and his men began hooting and hollering.  Sansa just did what they couldn’t.  It was part of Unveiled Policy, posted above the door, “Do not touch the dancers or their costumes.”  If she wasn’t connected to anyone, completely civilian, he could have sent Varys to retrieve her, telling her that  _ management _ wanted to speak to her.  But she was connected, to the Hound.  No way was the Hound going to allow his date carted off, especially not by Littlefinger’s right hand man.  

Petyr had to allow this to continue.  He wanted so much to yank Marei out of the way and fall on his knees before Sansa to see and taste what was under her skirt.  He didn’t care about Clegane or his men.  Bronn would kill them and if he didn’t, Petyr would die happy, tongue buried between Sansa Stark’s folds.  He gave himself another mental shake to get that fantasy out of his mind, as it definitely lead to his own demise.  

Sansa was stuffing more bills into Marei’s thong and the crowd of people gathered around were cheering the two beautiful women on.  Sansa took the rest of the money and folded it, then she placed it in her own mouth and reclined back in the booth.  Marei crouched over her and slowly slid up the length of Sansa from between her legs and grabbed the wad of cash with her own mouth.  Sansa sat up as she waved Marei off.  

Thinking of the money, Petyr texted,  _ Picture-perfect Sansa Stark has got a dirty mouth.   _

She didn’t get a chance to see the message before the Hound was ravaging her in the booth, he pulled her legs into his lap, his mouth was all over her as his hands slid up inside her triangle halter top.  Petyr’s body burned and pin-pricked with how livid he was.  Before he realized what he was doing, he had bolted out of the supply closet and was making large strides towards their booth.  Varys glided in front of him, for the first time since being in his employ, Varys took this liberty.  “Let’s call Bronn.”  

Petyr screwed his mouth in anger at being stopped.  His eyes bore holes into the fat man’s bald head as he took some slow deep breaths.  Gradually, he was able to form words, “Do.  Not.   _ Ever. _  Stand in  _ my _ way again.”  

Varys kept his hands in his pockets, and looked down at his shoes.  “This woman is ruling you.  Everything you’ve worked for, gone, for some whore who can’t decide who she’s fucking.”  

Petyr cracked his knuckles, trying to maintain some semblance of self-control, “Varys, you’ve been with me since the beginning, but you are not immune.  You will pay a price for saying that.”  

“I hope that I do.”  Varys looked up at him solemnly, “Because then it means that you are back to your old self.”  

Petyr knew that Varys was right, he was not running things as he should be.  His actions were impulsive and stupid and would cost him his life if he continued.  Though Varys was wrong about something.  It wasn’t that this woman was the problem.  It was not having her, and it was destroying him.  Petyr looked around Varys and was astonished to see Sansa holding Clegane by his throat.  The hulking beast hovered above her, caught.  Petyr could hear her now as she said fiercely, “ _ I said _ not in public.”  

Clegane tried to laugh, his throat caught.  At any time, he could have pulled her away with his huge meaty hands.  She was no real threat to him, but he remained there caught in her grasp just the same.  Petyr’s skin crawled to discover that the Hound was enjoying this.  Petyr heard Clegane’s raspy voice say, “I’m sorry.”  

Sansa leaned in and came nose to nose with him, “Good.”  Then she pulled herself up out of the booth, smoothing her shirt and skirt down.  

The hound reached up to cup her ass and she rounded on him.  With a sickening crack, she smacked him across his face.  Sandor growled in surprise.  As he raised a hand to his cheek he broke out in a toothy grin and said to his men, “My bitch bites.”  They all burst with laughter.    

Petyr remained positioned behind Varys, hoping not to be noticed, his body being more fit and trim than Varys’ husky frame.  Sansa picked up her phone and clutch and started walking away.  Petyr expected the Hound to chase after her or send a man, but when she was completely out of the Clegane crowd and he still hadn’t made a move for her, Petyr realized this sort of thing must have been common for them.  

Petyr continued watching her from the cover of Varys, she was looking at her phone when he heard her laugh as she walked for the exit.  

A wave of urgency overcame him as began texting her,  _ Stay.  Go to the backdoor. _

He looked disdainfully at Varys and said, “If Sansa is at the back door, escort her to my office.”

Varys nodded his understanding and moved swiftly, as he was known to do when he was preparing for the negative consequences of being on Littlefinger’s bad side.  

_ Why? _  His phone lit up with her response.  

_ So I can see more of you.   _ Petyr punched in the response as he thought about the ivory skin exposed on either side of her triangle shaped top.  She had always dressed so modestly, knowing that she didn’t have to show her body off to be attractive.  

Varys had left to wait by the back door for Sansa.  Petyr had been looking down at his phone waiting for a response when he heard that familiar rasping voice boom, “Littlefinger!”  

Petyr plastered a smile on his face as he looked up, “Clegane.”  

“Come, have a seat!  You missed quite a show!”  Sandor smacked the seat of the booth and spoke jovially.  

“My girls usually do give a good show.”  Petyr smiled his practiced smile of neutrality as he sat down, hoping not many noticed who he kept company with.    

Sandor nodded back, grinning and intermittently laughing, “We come here because we know you’ve got the best girls.  But this time, it was my girl.  Sansa, you remember her right?  She cleans up good, doesn’t she?  But underneath she’s just a cum guzzling slut, aching to gag on my cock.” 

Petyr’s eye twitched and he reflexively went to crack his knuckles until he realized he couldn’t.  Instead, he placed his palms flat in his lap and dug his fingers into his thighs to avoid bursting with ire.  Sandor looked at him, waiting for a response and Petyr forced a full smile to exceed his forced smirk.  “Aren’t all women?”  

Sandor laughed out loud at that and said, “This one takes the fucking cake.  She’s pissed at me now, but she’ll cool down and come begging for my dick.”  

“I’m sorry I missed it.”  The words felt so disgusting in his mouth that Petyr spat them out.  

Sandor was too drunk, high, and horny to notice.  “Hey, my guy hasn’t gotten back to me about that shipment.  You hear anything?”

“Tuesday at 2:30am -- Shipbreaker Bay.”  Petyr answered thoughtlessly, he had already known what he would tell all the families once they asked.  

“Fuck.  My guy is shit.”  Clegane threw his arms down.  

Petyr found himself staring at the archway that lead to the back of the club, wondering if she stayed.  If she did, was she back there now?  Absent-mindedly he responded, “Get rid of him.”  

Clegane laughed, “Nah.  He’s shitty, but sometimes he comes through.  I’ll keep trying him just in case.”  

Petyr rolled his eyes, “Operant conditioning at its finest.”  

“What?”  Clegane’s eyebrows furrowed.  

Petyr made himself look away from the back.  He was supposed to be happy that Sandor was so stupid.  That was how he made his money.  Putting a smile on his face again, Petyr explained, “You just explained why gambling is so profitable.”  

“Oh.”  Clegane’s face relaxed, “I knew there was a reason I own a casino.”  

Sandor busted up laughing and Petyr let loose a soft chuckle as he started to stand up.  “Enjoy your night gentlemen, I’ve got some business to attend to.”  

“Anything I should know about?”  Clegane stopped laughing and stared back at Petyr more seriously.  

Petyr rummaged through his brain quickly looking for any excuse to use.  He had learned that lies close to the truth were the best.  Prior to hearing from Varys that Sansa was at Unveiled, he had heard that the new girl, Daisy, was refusing to work the floor.  “No, it’s nothing, dancer who’s a little too shy to perform.”  

Clegane smacked Petyr’s back as he laughed, “Oh, needs a little boost does she?  Some self-confidence.  Go put it to her good, make her feel sexy so she comes out to play.”  

Petyr was surprised that Clegane’s advice wasn’t to beat her into submission.  Either Sansa was having a positive effect on him or he fancied himself a casanova.  Rather than spending anymore time on him, Petyr played the part.  “That’s the plan!  I’m going to go work on her right now.”  

Clegane and his men hooted and hollered again.  They were clearly high and taking it out on everyone.  Normal, Petyr would reprimand the dancers and bartenders for taking advantage of intoxicated customers as it was bad for repeat business.  That night however, he was more than happy to turn a blind eye.  

Petyr made his way to his office with a measured step to avoid appearing as though he was scurrying.  He burst through his office door and felt deflated when he saw that it was empty.  He pulled out his phone, checking for her response.   _ Turnabout is fair play.   _

She stayed!  And there was a strong possibility that she may still be there.  Petyr opened his door and made for the adjoining office but stopped when he heard muffled crying coming from inside.    

“He’s just so scary and ugly.”  A meek voice whimpered.  

Sansa, providing a stronger more confident voice answered, “I know he is.”  

“I can’t.  I just can’t do it.”  The voice pleaded.  

Petyr creeped away from the door and turned back into his office, cursing Varys for putting Sansa in the same room as Daisy.  Varys was too careful to have done this mistakenly.  

Petyr had another two-way mirror installed for the office next door, as he didn’t trust anyone and wanted to be able to see everything around him at all times.  He opened the blinds to his window to reveal that it was a window into the next room and not outside.  From the other office, it looked like a decorative mirror in the shape of an oval.  And, anybody who met Varys would believe he’d have a decorative mirror in his office.  

He looked through the glass and saw Daisy curled up defensively on the couch and Sansa next to her, gently stroking her hair.  He reached for the switch that turned the microphone on so he could listen to Sansa console her.  

Sansa leaned in and cooed softly, “You can.  You can do anything.  I know this.  Would you like to know how I know?”  

Daisy looked up from her arms, face splotchy with the exertion of tears, “Uh-huh.”  

Sansa continued to stroke her hair, though she looked away from Daisy as she spoke, “When I was younger, maybe only a few years younger than you, some very bad men came to my home.  They wanted to hurt me and my siblings and I was very scared.  So scared I couldn’t feel anything but my heart slamming against my chest.  I hid my brothers and sister in my father’s secret gun room behind the bookshelf in his study.  I locked them in there to keep them safe.  And then I left to get the wolves.  We had a small pack of them on our estate.”  

Daisy listened in rapt attention, forgetting that she had been crying seconds before.  “That must have been nice.  An estate sounds nice.  Wolves are very pretty.”  

Petyr rolled his eyes at Daisy’s birdbrain and focused his attention back on Sansa as she continued her story  Sansa appeared completely disconnected from the words she spoke, “Wolves are very scary up close, especially when they smell blood.  I was scared of them, how they nipped at each other and growled, but I was terrified of the big men with guns.  The wolves smelled blood and wanted to kill, didn’t matter what or who.  But the men were looking for _ me _ .  And they were looking for the children.”

Daisy shivered and reached over to hold Sansa’s hand.  Sansa accepted it, offering a polite smile, “I stayed out of the way as they attacked the intruders.  Some got away, but two of them couldn’t escape the wolves.  Feel lucky that you’ve never heard a wolf feed on someone.  The screaming becomes like a ringing in your ears, a sound you’ll never get out.  Seconded only by the the sucking and popping sounds they make as they tear limbs and snap bones.  I managed to get to a phone and call 911.  The men were all gone but the wolves were not.  They had the taste of blood and I was the only thing left to hunt.  I kept telling myself I just had to survive until the police got there.  I grabbed the biggest knife I could find from the kitchen and I hid in the laundry chute.  Wolves are smart though, and determined.  One kept biting and clawing at the flimsy door between us.”  

Petyr had to remind himself to breath as he listened to her speak.  He felt as though he were right there in the laundry chute with her, not miles away running packages for the Arryns at the time.  He watched her fiddle with the silver wolf pendant.         

“Is that why you wear that?”  Daisy had apparently noticed her playing with her necklace too.  

“What?”  Sansa looked confused, pulled from her memory.  She looked down at the necklace in her fingers and sighed.  She reached up and began unclasping it as she said, “Sometimes, when I’m going to do something I don’t like, I wear it to remind myself that at least it isn’t as bad as that horrible night.”  Sansa put it around Daisy’s neck and clasped it.  “Keep it.  As a reminder that you can not allow fear to stop you from what needs to be done.”  

Petyr stood aghast.  He had seen her wear her mascot almost each time he had seen her out with Clegane.  What would she have now?  He wondered if he had imagined the importance of it to her.  

Daisy smiled down at it and stood up with a new resolve, “It’s just a sweaty old man who wants to give me money.  And it’s just a dance.”  As she reached the door, she looked back at Sansa, “Now that you’ve given me this, is there anything you have for when you’re scared or nervous?”  

Sansa chuckled, “I have a fur that I wear, for strength.”  

“Oo, fur!  Is it really soft?  I hear mink and rabbit are extremely soft.”  Daisy’s naivety was predictable.  

Sansa stood, smoothing her arms down her sides, “Wolf fur is softer than you would think.”  

“Wolf fur?  Oh you bought some to remind you of how strong you had to be that night?”  Daisy dug some more.  

Sansa held the door open for her and smiled the same way she did for the Hound, practiced, “No Daisy, I stabbed at that wolf’s head and throat a thousand times as it ripped through the door.  It died bleeding out wedged in the broken wood, it’s face indistinguishable.  I got to keep the pelt when all was said and done.  My prize for staying alive.”  

Daisy blinked, taking in the violence that emanated off of Sansa.  Eventually, determining that while Sansa may have been dangerous, she was not to her, Daisy bounded off down the hall towards the club.  Petyr stepped out of his office, coming face to face with Sansa.  “That was kind of you.” 

She shook her head, seemingly unsurprised that he knew what had just happened, “No, it was effective.  A stripper who doesn’t strip is a bad investment.” 

Her voice was stoic and she had a hardness to her face ever since telling her story.  Petyr felt confused, she had been so kind to Daisy, even given her mascot away, only to be so detached the moment she left.  He understood more than anyone that a working girl who didn’t work was a problem, but he was surprised to see that Sansa appeared to too, even after the things she had shared with her.  For a moment he thought that he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.    

What he did know was that she was hurt, and it had never healed.  Petyr wanted to scoop her up into his arms and comfort her, but something told him that she wouldn’t allow him to.  Daring to test the waters he slid a hand in hers, “Come for a ride with me?”  

“Where?”  She tilted her head up in question, not removing her hand from his, he noticed thankfully.  

Feeling more confident from holding her hand, he gently tugged at her jaw with his other hand.  “Anywhere, around the block a few times, let’s get away from this night.”  

She looked back into his eyes, searching to see if there was more to what he said.  He brought his lips to hers to stop her investigation.  He closed his eyes and gently moved his lips against hers as he said, “Please.”

She opened up to him and met his words with a kiss.  It was a kiss that was familiar, though he was positive he had never experienced it before.  It was soft, permissive and then it became warm and direct and as if she had kissed him this way a thousand times before.  

Their hands remained joined as they pulled away from their kiss.  Petyr grinned from ear to ear and for a moment and didn’t care who saw.  Sansa had a smile too, an easy one, one that Petyr had only ever seen the mornings he watched her sip her coffee and read the newspaper in her periwinkle blue robe.

Petyr opened the backdoor and they stepped out of Unveiled and onto the pavement of the back alley.  Varys had commissioned a limo for them, no doubt to start making up for his comment earlier, and the room swap.  It wasn’t a stretch limo as it was just the two of them, but it had a lit up bar that he could see through the tinted window.  

Petyr saw as she picked up her phone that there were four missed calls from Clegane.  “So there goes the story that you crawl back to him begging for sex.”  

Sansa scrunched her face in confusion.  Petyr told her what Sandor had said and she rolled her eyes, “More like he calls a bunch of times and shows up at my door with flowers.”  

“Flowers don’t work with you.”  Petyr smiled because he knew her enough to know that.  He opened the door to the limousine for her.  

As she climbed in, she started texting and said aloud, “Just letting Jon know what we’re riding in.”

He slid in next to her and couldn’t help but notice another name on her phone’s main screen, it was labeled:  ATM.  She followed his eyes and blushed a little when she realized what he was seeing.  “It’s you.  At the gala, I said--”  

She was cut off when Petyr raised his own phone showing her, “Brainless Pretty Face.”

They both laughed and Petyr found himself reaching for her face again, pulling her into another familiar kiss.  When they pulled away, he noticed her leaning up against him, so he ventured to put his arm around her.  She cuddled further into him, resting her head on his chest and sliding her palm over his stomach.  This was definitely not what he had expected.  After the forceful encounters they had, he didn’t think her affection could be soft and warm.  

He smiled into her hair as he asked, “Earlier, with the stripper, were you really into that?”  

He felt her smile against his shirt and sigh, “The sexy thing to say is that I am.  But the truth is, I was just doing it for you.”  

He felt his dick twitch in his pants, hearing her confession, and he gripped the seat with his free hand hoping she wouldn’t notice.  “ _ That _ is the sexy thing to say.”      

She sat up at that, “What?”  

Displeased at the reduced contact, Petyr pulled her legs into his lap, hoping she wouldn’t resist.  “That you would put on a show like that, that you weren’t even interested in, just to get my attention.  Extremely inticing.”  

With her arms and legs already draped over him, it was effortless to lift her bottom up into his lap.  She didn’t protest, and in fact, only settled in further, getting more comfortable.  With one arm wrapped around his neck and the other hand picking playfully at the collar of his shirt, Sansa said, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little aroused.”  

She felt so good in his lap, relaxed and agreeable.  Petyr decided to chance a more intimate touch.  Leaning down into her chest, he placed a soft kiss on the slight curve of her breast exposed by her neckline.  He didn’t push for more, waiting to see what she would do.  “Were you?”  

Her voice grew velvety as she began running her fingers through his hair, “It wasn’t the woman.  It was that it was  _ naughty _ .”  

Petyr felt himself straining against his pants almost painfully.  He took a controlled breath that he hoped she didn’t notice.  He didn’t want her to see how affected he was, he didn’t want it to be like White Harbor.  He continued to flirt in response as if he wasn’t losing an ounce of self-control for each second that passed, “Hmm, I wonder what other naughty things you could do.”  

Sansa leaned in, kissing and nibbling on his clavicle.  Petyr looked up to the roof of the limo to calm himself as her mouth meandered up his neck, and was delighted to find that it was completely lined with mirror.  His lust surged as he watched beautiful Sansa Stark snuggled up in Littlefinger’s lap.  He stared at the ceiling as her hand reached under his shirt and she lightly scraped her nails across his belly.  He rumbled in response and watched himself slide his hand over her long slender legs.  He liked how her hair splayed out down her back in streams of red, more copper in the car’s interior lights.  He smiled up at his reflection, relishing the view.  He wanted to burn this image in his brain forever, after weeks of desire, and having to watch the Hound paw at her, wanting nothing more than to scoop her up in his arms and to keep her all to himself, he was finally having her.  

His other hand, the one that had been lightly caressing her firm round ass, began tracing the top of her thong through her thin skirt, allowing his finger to dip into the curve only slightly.  She moaned into his neck and then he felt a wave of sensation pulse through his cock from tip to base and back when her mouth found his earlobe.  She sucked lightly and gently nibbled, moving her fingers up to press into his chest and tug at his nipple.  

He couldn’t stand it anymore, he leaned forward and yanked his shirt off fluidly.  She purred down at his chest and covered his nipple with her mouth.  He couldn’t stop from looking up, and he watched himself slide his hand to the back of her head, gently digging his fingers into her hair, encouraging her work on his chest.  

After a moment of thriving under his encouragement, Sansa sat back and swung her legs to either side, straddling him.  That got Petyr’s attention, they were mere inches and thin cloth barriers from consummating a month of fantasy.  He let his hands glide over her thighs and up to the creamy skin of her sides peeking out of the triangle.  His hold on her tightened as the feel of her bare skin under his hands made him rub himself against her through his pants.  He breathed as he squeezed gently with his hands, “This is the most I’ve ever seen of you.”    

She smiled down at him and ruffled some of his hair, “Let’s fix that.”  

She reached back, unfastening her shirt and pulling the neck over her head, tossing the metallic material off to the side.  Petyr’s mouth watered at the two salacious breasts, creamy and smooth with two rose-hardened peaks straining towards him.  His hands slid up her sides and cupped her, his thumbs below her nipples slowly massaging.  His voice husky as he decided to tease her, “These must be so heavy, let me help you.”

“Unh-yeah.”  Her eyes closed, having difficulty finding the word, she arched into his palms.

Petyr looked smug as he continued to massage her, and then he brought his mouth to one, and kissed it deeply and thoroughly, swirling his tongue around it.  She moaned in response, rubbing herself against his hard bulge, and gripped her fingers in his hair.  Slowing his kissing and sucking, he rubbed his lips against her nipple asking, “Shall I make them even?”  

She nodded and tilted so that he could reach the other better.  Petyr felt pride welling in his chest, he had wanted this for so long and before he saw how fervently she responded to his touch, was beginning to feel insecure.  He became concerned that he would do something to ruin the mood, or that she would be bored with his moves.  He was after all, much older than her.  She was still so young, so perky, so fresh and unmarked.  And she had her legs wrapped around him, pushing her tit in his face expectantly.  Any insecurity drained from his brain along with his blood flow.    

He surged forward, taking her nipple into his mouth fiercely.  She cried out and bucked her hips.  He dropped his hands to her ass, tugging her skirt up over her two perfect globes.  His hands gripped and massaged her.  This was what he wanted back at White Harbor.  Remembering that frustrating dress separating him from the skin to skin contact he craved, he was sure to grip her tightly now in appreciation of the new freedom he was allowed.  

With his mouth full, enclosing as much of her breast as he could, his hands overflowing with her ass, and the all consuming sensation of his dick about to pop his zipper, he hadn’t noticed her slowly inching her skirt up her abdomen until she nudged his mouth away as she squeezed the skirt up over her head and flung it off to the side.  Thank god for stretchy material.  

His eyes devoured the landscape of her body, every dip and curve, all smooth and at his deft fingertips.  She reached forward, unbuckling his belt and Petyr’s cock twitched at the promise of being released.  She raised herself up on her haunches and Petyr felt a flash of disappointment at the loss of her contact, then saw that she was tugging his pants down so he tilted his hips up into her to help.  He felt the heat radiating off of her as he moved his pants out of the way.    

His cock stood at attention and he almost reflexively gripped it to ease some pressure when he saw her delicate hand surround it and squeeze gently.  He sighed with pleasure and watched her hand work him up and down.  Realizing that he was getting too close, he stilled her hand and she chuckled from above.  He felt a light kiss pressed to the side of his ear.  

He looked back over her, eyes dark with sensuality, and dimples accenting her victorious grin.  Both of them almost completely nude save for the pants around his ankles and the black thong she still wore.  He hooked his finger in the side of it and traced inside all the way down.  He felt a line of hair brush against the back of his finger, and a dampness as he touched her soft folds.  She was breathing heavy at his exploration.  

Seeing how she reacted to him just brushing against her, desire to part her folds became a need as he quickly spread her open, exposing her nub to the open air.  He scissored his fingers over it and she cried out again.  His fingers slippery with her teased their way at her entrance, pausing only momentarily for him to see her wanton gaze.  At her look, he buried his fingers deep inside of her and held her hip with his other hand to support her as she writhed on his pumping digits.  His cock twitched in anticipation of being inside of her, he pulled his fingers out and made to line himself up with her when her hand came down and stopped him.  He looked up in utter confusion.  

No.  Fuck no.  She was not stopping this now.  Not this far in.  Was she?  He searched her face and she said in a breathy voice, “Get a condom.  In my purse.”

For a moment he resisted, “I don’t wear condoms.”  

“Then you don’t wear me.”  Her words so matter of fact, her tone so blunt, such a contrast from the carnal way in which she communicated with him before.    

She started to pull back off of him and he stilled her, her hips in his vice grip.  Petyr lifted one hand off of her, realizing he may have hurt her.  Palm up showing her he meant no harm, he slowly reached for her purse next to him showing his willingness to comply.  

Petyr smiled affectionately when he saw the Beretta in her purse and he picked it up, showing her he had noticed, “Kill anyone since I saw you last?”  

“I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”  Her hand returned to his cock and began massaging him again.  

He chuckled and pulled a condom out, ripping it open with his teeth.  “You’re going to have to show me how to use one of these things.”  

She smiled as she stuck it to his tip and slowly unrolled it down the length of him.  “I don’t believe for an instant that with all women you fuck you don’t wear condoms, you’re too careful for that.”  

“I am, which is why I only fuck women who test clean.”  He looked down at his dick, large, and hard, and now a blue color from the latex.  

Sansa grinned, “What about me?”  

Petyr pulled the material to one side displaying the pink pussy he was playing with moments before.  A strip of short red curls showed him the way inside.  “You get yourself tested regularly, and you use condoms--you forget, I’ve been watching you for over a month now.”

She gave a little gasp at his words and then again as he nudged her entrance with his tip.  When he saw she was watching, gazing down the valley of her breasts, over the indent of her stomach muscles and down below.  He plunged himself into her, invading her.  Sansa inhaled sharply while Petyr’s exhale was guttural.  He held himself there for a moment, feeling her internal pulse and her natural juices drip down his cock in readiness.  

It was only when she started shifting in his lap, creating the slightest friction, that he started to move himself in and out of her slowly finding and meeting a rhythm with her rocking hips.  God, she felt good, so wet and tight.  He knew she thought he felt good too because of how her eyes fluttered closed and how she bit her lip.

Feeling encouraged by the look on her face, Petyr brought his fingers back down to her slippery lips and began rubbing and circling her clit.  She moaned, “mmnh.”  He looked down hungrily, watching his cock slide in and out of her.  

She increased her speed and he found himself pumping up into her to match her.  After a minute, he noticed she was quieter, and she hadn’t been looking at him.  He felt a loss in her attention.  He kept up with her, still circling her, but began watching her face more closely, trying to see if there was something he was missing.  A couple of times he caught her looking away at the back of the car.  Her stare was a thousand miles away as he slowed down his pace inside of her.  She hadn’t noticed, just kept looking past him--past them.         

Petyr’s tugged her face towards his with both of his hands, “Stay with me.”  

She looked at him, not understanding what he was saying to her.  Her eyes sparkled like sapphires in the light and her lips were so dark and pouty.  He decided to show her what he meant and he brought his lips to hers.  He kissed her, for the first time, he realized since they got in the car.  How had things gotten to this point without tasting her lips on his?  He was an idiot.  

Their kiss so compelling, any doubt he had as to her focus dissipated.  She grinded on him with renewed fervor.  He brought his hand back down between them, sliding his fingers around the slippery bundle of nerves firing for him.  She groaned in his mouth, and he felt his own blood rushing as sweat misted their bodies, working hard together.

And then she stilled suddenly and convulsed on top of him, unable to speak or breath.  Petyr brought both hands around and began kneading her ass roughly pushing her down on his cock.  She blew all the air that was trapped in her lungs in a long shaky exhale and Petyr couldn’t contain the possessive growl that escaped at being able to do that to her.  

Her eyes fluttered and she was still moving up and down, letting little sobs out.  He realized she was still coming and he desperately wanted to catch up.  He bounced her up and down on his cock vigorously pumping into her, trying to meet her.  Fucking condom.  Still breathing heavy and looking unraveled, she reached one arm back and cupped his balls beneath them.  Petyr twitched in response to this new sensation.  She rubbed his tight sack and it was just what he needed to send him over the edge.  He roared as he bucked uncontrollably into her.  She leaned back and looked down at him coming undone beneath her.  She smiled proudly as he spasmed inside her.  Petyr pulled her forward and wrapped one arm around her, holding her pressed against him as his cock continued pulsing in aftershock.    

Alone now, Petyr looked down at his hand gripping his cock through his pants.  The driver had said something, Petyr wasn’t sure what.  He slowly detached his hand from his aching crotch, feeling shaken and disoriented.  He looked out the window and saw “Bannerless Brothers Limo Depot.”

Before him sat a fleet of limousines.  He jumped out of the town car and hollered for his driver to do the same.  “Search every car!  I want my wife found,  _ now! _ ”

Petyr threw car doors open and heard off in a distance his driver doing the same.  Which goddamned car was she in?  Fun was fun, but this was getting ridiculous.  Maybe she didn’t remember their first time, but he sure as hell did, and the need from it rampaged through his body.  

_ Twenty-two minutes.  Has your cock torn through your pants yet?   _

Petyr slammed his fist on the roof of an empty limo.  He closed his eyes and centered himself again.  For a moment, Petyr seriously thought about cheating.  She would never have to know.  He was great at lying, he could cover this up.  He was sure of it.  He picked up his phone clicking the GPS app and watched the loading screen.  As he watched the little circle spin he stopped himself, pressing the home button before he could see anything.  Damn it.  

Maybe it wasn’t when he first noticed her or when she first gave him a chance.  Maybe it wasn’t where they first kissed or fucked.  Maybe this was something more intimate.  He waved his driver back over to the car, “42 Kings Road.”        


	8. Campaign for Kingsroad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could be the whole fucking night, or it could just be the next five minutes.

The day after, Petyr acted as if nothing had happened, on the outside.  On the inside, he kept flashing back to the night before when he had held her tits in his mouth, squeezed her plump ass, and carried the scent of her on his fingers.  He would shift himself to accommodate his resulting growth and would bring himself back to reality.  It was just fucking, he told himself.  Something he’d done a thousand times before.  The formula simple: kiss, suck, penetrate, and gyrate.  

And then he saw his mirrored self, digging his fingers into her hair, holding her to his bare chest.  Sansa Stark was curled up in Littlefinger’s lap, and she was completely and utterly  _ his _ .  

It definitely wasn’t  _ just fucking _ .  At the memory of all the delightful things she let him do to her, he was reminded of one that he hadn’t yet and sent her a quick text, “When do I get to taste your pussy?”

As he waited for a response, he considered the situation.  Overall, Petyr didn't know what he had expected.  Normally, he would have acknowledged the disappointment of yet another conquest not living up to the fantasy and moved on, counting it another itch successfully scratched.  He would put his lust behind him and focus on business, not being one to cuddle after or confuse the release of an orgasm with love-destined.   

Though, this time, he was not satisfied doing any of those things.  Almost immediately after she left the limo that night, he felt strange.  He tried to put his finger on it but no one feeling was right.  He knew that sex with Sansa definitely didn’t disappoint.  And he knew that he wanted to see her again, not necessarily for sex--though he wouldn’t decline the opportunity.  Just to see her.  Maybe catch a glimpse of her in her morning ritual.  For a brief moment, Petyr pictured himself at her table in his own black robe, sipping his coffee out of a matching ceramic mug, reading her discarded newspaper sections.  

She hadn’t answered him, and it had been days.  He knew she enjoyed what they shared too.  There was no faking the sounds she made, the smiles she gave, or the way she slithered all over his body just as desperate to feel his skin as he was to feel hers.  When they were finished, she stayed under his arm, pressed to him for a while.  Much longer than would be casual.  Finally, she pulled back and climbed off of him.  They both slipped their clothes back on, smiles on their faces, not saying a word.  

The silence continued, and he knew that he should say something, but truly did not know what.  It wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet, their faces held warmth for each other and the air buzzed and crackled with residual energy.  The desire to preserve what happened, appeared to be an unspoken understanding between them.  Keeping her eyes on him, Sansa pressed the intercom button, her voice silky, “Pull over.”  Petyr’s eyebrows wrinkled in question.  

The limo came to a halt and Sansa slid up between Petyr’s legs, leaning in to catch his mouth in their familiar kiss.  He lifted his arms, wanting to wrap them around her, but refrained, instead dropping his hand to hers.  He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, and as she ended their kiss, he found it difficult to release her hand.  She smiled, giving him a firm squeeze and let go, opening the door and stepping out.  

Petyr looked out the window, seeing her click her heels down the pavement of the quiet city street.  Snow was parked behind them, holding her door open for her.  He wondered if she saw him watching her leave, but figured that even though she probably couldn’t see through the tinted windows, she knew.  She flashed a large grin back at the limo and climbed into her town car.  And that was that.     

There was no way that she was unaffected.  She would be in touch, he was sure of it.  Or at least, he  _ was.   _ It had been a week and no contact.  Not even an answer to any of his messages.  He sent another text every couple of days after the initial text.  At first, he told himself that she didn’t answer because she couldn’t.  Maybe she was with the Hound.  Or perhaps she was dealing with clients at her family’s art gallery.  Sleeping?  Surely in this day and age she wasn’t waiting some arbitrary number of days to reciprocate.  Was she done with him?  

He told himself not to care, he got what he wanted.  He should get back to business, keep things running smoothly with the Harpy, punish Varys, start planning for take over of Clegane’s territory.  Sansa wanted it, and he had already been thinking of getting rid of the Hound anyway.  To be honest, he kept Clegane in place all this time because it was easier having the stupid mutt doing his dirty work.  But Petyr felt that the time was coming to start showing the city what he was capable of, and start showing the other families too.  It was just a little ahead of schedule and if it gave him Sansa earlier, even better.  

Assuming she’d come to him.  Why wouldn’t she?  She admitted that she was only with Clegane to regain control.  If Petyr took over, she would be by his side instead of the Hound’s, either by desire or manipulation.  He thought about the way she snuggled up to him, legs draped over his lap, smiling into his chest.  He was convinced that it would be by desire.  She wanted him and she would come to him when she was free to.  She would assail him with her affections as soon as she saw what he did for her, for them.  Wouldn’t she?   _ A week, no contact. _

Fuck this.  This was not Chicken and there was no rule that said that he had to call her and define his feelings immediately, proposing to love her forever and ever in Hallmark mush that never lasts.  And there was also no rule that said that he had to wait by the phone for her to determine whether or not he would ever have a chance to hold her hand again.  He didn’t know about forever, that was naive teenager bullshit.  But he did know that this was more than the Fuck Formula.  And he knew he wanted to touch her, in any way she would allow.  And he wanted to listen to her quick wit and strong confident voice.  What he wouldn’t give to smell that clean rain scent she emanated.

He pulled his phone out and typed,  _ I miss you. _

He sat there staring at it for a moment, and then he pressed the backspace button.  She was not the type to be wooed by sentiment.  She was not soft like other women.  In fact, thinking about it further, if he had not caught her at just the right time, she may not have been so receptive to his gentle advances.  

Or perhaps it was the wrong time.  She had just been telling that eerie wolf story to Daisy, and obviously reliving it.  She was uncharacteristically pliable afterward too.  Sansa was always sharp and witty, and didn’t give into him before.  He was stunned when she allowed him to place a kiss, however unassuming, on her chest.  Sansa from Highgarden would never allow it.  She  _ bit  _ him.  Sansa from White Harbor wouldn’t have either, she actually pushed him away, palms to his chest.  Unveiled was different though.  Petyr was starting to believe he caught her  _ vulnerable _ .  

A dirty feeling crawled on his skin.  He loved exploiting his competitor’s weaknesses, but not hers.  Had he been that horny and brain dead that he didn’t notice how different she was?  Did he take advantage of her?  No, it was special.  She wanted it too.  She initiated, not him.  She took her own shirt off, she undid his pants, she grinded into him just as much as he pumped into her.  She insisted on the condom--laying out the rules.  She wouldn’t lay out rules to something she wanted no part of.  She was fully engaged, goddamn it.  

Except for when she wasn’t.  Petyr looked down at his phone, his words caught in his throat.  He had seen that look before in his girls and he knew what it meant.  It meant that her mind was escaping the actions of her body,  _ their _ bodies.  And suddenly that warm and fuzzy feeling he had been carrying for the past eight days turned prickly and hard to hold.  Trying to console himself, he thought of how he brought her back, how his kiss saved her from floating away in the ether.  The idea of her wanting to get away from him in the first place stung and he knew he had to reach out.  

He worked his fingers and typed for the second time,  _ I miss you.   _ This time he didn’t erase it and didn’t give himself time to think about it.  He hit send immediately after the period.  

And waited.  And kept waiting.  Minutes turned into hours and still no response.  Unable to stand it any longer he, grabbed his keys and left for Sansa’s.  His mind had been slowly tearing itself apart for over a week now, running in circles, over-analyzing and agonizing.  Nothing would settle him but seeing her.

He turned his headlights off as he pulled up, a couple of doors down from 42 Kings Rd.  The clock in his car said it was past ten pm.  Snow was sitting out on the patio, using the cover of night as a safe time to clean his gun.  Petyr walked around to the side of the house, where he saw a light on in her kitchen.  Coming around to look in the window, he saw her standing at her counter, hair up in a messy bun, wearing loose oversized sweatpants and a tight white tank top that kept creeping up on her stomach.  It was the most casual he’d ever seen her look and it excited him that he was able to see how she looked when she wasn’t dressed for anyone else.  

She was sipping a glass of water and scrolling through her phone.  Petyr pulled his out of his pocket, making sure that it was out of sight of the window and that the volume was silent as he typed,  _ Where did you go?   _

It buzzed in her hand and she jumped.  He had to stifle a laugh at seeing her startled.  After she looked at her phone, she set her glass down on the counter and brought her arm up across her chest to clutch her shoulder.  Her other hand pressed something on her phone and dropped down to her stomach, clutching it there.  Her eyes sparkled, much more shiny than usual.  Her jaw hardened and her lips pressed together.  He realized, she was  _ sad. _  He’d never seen her that way before.  With the Hound it was always practiced content, sometimes allowing a smidgen of disgust to spill out.  But never sadness.  

Whatever button she had pushed, it wasn’t to respond to him.  He stood there, holding his phone, waiting for her reply to light up.  Nothing.  She leaned up against her counter holding herself, not responding.  After a while, Sansa straightened up, leaving the counter.  Petyr typed again,  _ no answer?  _

She put a hand on her hip and raised her other arm across her eyes as she let loose a stream of obscenities.  He took a sliver of joy in the discomfort she was feeling.  Despite whatever sadness she felt, she was ignoring him, after all.  Rejection doesn’t feel good, for either party.  Finally she turned and slapped her bare feet across the tile.  She opened a drawer, set the phone down, and closed it.  She hovered in front of it for a moment, staring intently at the drawer, and then turned and walked away.  Petyr stood crestfallen as the light turned off inside the house.  

Petyr couldn’t doubt it any longer.  The past week had not been some girlish game to get him to call first.  It was rejection, undeniably.  Judging by the sadness he saw in her face, it didn’t look as though she wanted to do this either.  Nevertheless, she was doing it.  The question was,  _ why?   _ Petyr resolved to find out.   

The next morning, he stood waiting for her at Highgarden Coffee Shop.  She saw him the moment she exited her car and stared ahead neutrally.  “Morning, Baelish.”  

_ Baelish? _  He thought they were beyond that.  He went on, attempting to seem unphased, “I don’t know if you got any of my texts or not, but I’ve missed seeing you.”  

Sansa smiled, walking past him and through the front door to stand in line.  He followed closely, urging her to acknowledge him, “Sansa?” 

Her smile was polite but her words weren’t, “Your persistence could be considered harassment.”  

Petyr blinked in surprise at her response.  The cold way in which she spoke to him made him stop in his tracks.  Brutality had replaced the sadness that made her hold herself alone in her kitchen the night prior. 

She got to the counter and before she could speak, Petyr threw cash down and barked, “Medium, just cream, no sugar.”  

He could swear he saw a smile peek out the corner of her mouth when she saw that he knew how she took her coffee.  He decided to take the direct route, “Where is this coming from?  Why are you pushing me away?”  

She took the coffee cup from the cashier and turned towards the door, Petyr trailing behind, “Sansa!”  

She spoke above her coffee cup, “It’s nothing personal. I just got you out of my system.”                

The wind was knocked out of him.  When he finally found words, she was climbing in her car.  He wasn’t going to chase behind like some lost puppy.  Particularly not after how she just smacked him on the nose.  

She had to be lying, after what he saw in her kitchen the night before.  She was putting on a show to push him away.  But why?  She’d felt what he felt, saw how good it could be.  He needed to change his tactics and try something different.       

The next day, he had Varys deliver an envelope to Sansa.  Petyr chuckled at the memory of the look on Varys’ face, all scrunched up in disgust.  “Problem?”  Petyr asked.  

Varys held the envelope with two fingers and said, “We have people for things like this.  I haven’t delivered a package in years.”  

“Let’s hope you haven’t forgotten how.”  Petyr smirked and looked down at his desk to dismiss him.  Varys lingered at the door and then turned to leave.  Petyr decided to delay him for a moment, “Varys.”  

The bald man looked back, squirming with discomfort.  

Petyr’s eyes were penetrating, “You’ll personally handle everything I send to Sansa from now on.  Perhaps with some humbling, you’ll learn not to call my woman a  _ whore.” _

Varys left and Petyr wondered what he just said.  

Varys was lucky that he had been loyal to Petyr for so long.  Playing errand boy for a short while was a slap on the wrist.  Though, some people would say that his offense was small.  What was Sansa to Petyr, after all?  She wasn’t his wife, or girlfriend, or even dedicated mistress.  Perhaps Varys didn’t or couldn’t understand, as his inclinations were never very apparent, but Sansa was definitely  _ something _ to Petyr.  Maybe she shouldn’t have been, as she rebuffed him at every opportunity, both before and even now after they had explored each other intimately.  But the fact of the matter was, she was more than a dalliance.  She was more than a recurring fuck, even.  He pictured sharing mornings with her.  He wanted her to be his.  His woman.  And nobody called his woman a whore. 

Varys was learning that lesson as he delivered the envelope containing both Petyr’s clean STD test results as well as a message that read:   _ You’re still in my system.  There are no others, only you.   _ It wasn’t a declaration on love.  But it was direct, and spoke volumes. 

He waited out the day, and slept restlessly that night.  Petyr picked at his breakfast and worked through lunch, trying to distract himself from his thoughts.  Finally at about three o’clock, he lost his patience.  Varys had been sent over twenty-four hours prior.  For a solid day he was shrouded in her silence and he bore the melancholy from it.  He could not afford to be so affected. 

Thinking on his message, he realized that he did not leave room for a response.  He sent her a statement, not a question.  Obviously, it was implied that she should respond.  However, Petyr understood that anyone reluctant to respond would use the excuse of a statement.  He needed to ask her a question.  He had a million of them.  Why are you pushing away?  Am I special to you?  Do you miss me?  Do you think about me like I think about you?  Do you remember the things we’ve done?  Do you want more?  Do you want  _ me _ ?  

On his desk under a pile of papers, disorganized from his distracted picking, he saw the shadowed outline of a bird printed on cardstock.  A mockingbird to be exact, the symbol of a new club Petyr was opening.  He would have to make one out for the Hound, and knew that it would cover his plus one.  He also knew that this was an opportunity to engage Sansa again, so he scrawled her out one as well requesting a RSVP, and called for Varys.          

Less than an hour after Varys left his sight, he felt his phone buzz.   _ You’ve got to stop. _

Petyr smiled at her response.  It was not the one he wanted, but she was willing to give a little and offer a response.  He considered it progress.  He typed back in,  _ I need to see you.   _

Almost as soon as he responded his phone buzzed back,  _ Re-evaluate your needs.   _

Petyr smiled,  _ Let’s meet and you can help me with that.   _

_ Stop.   _ Her message was short and to the point.  But Petyr didn’t want to stop, he was getting what he wanted.  He was getting a response, finally.  

Thirty minutes later, Petyr was walking through the glass door of Stark-Naked Art Gallery.  He headed straight to her office and threw the door open.  She was sitting in her chair, unflinching, merely looking up at him.  

“No.”  Petyr responded verbally to her text message.  

She sighed and rubbed an eyebrow, “It’s time to move on Baelish.”  

He didn’t respond, walking across her office in long strides and plopping down in a seat.  After a moment of sitting there, staring back at Sansa, who was now offering him full eye contact, he replied, “Why would I leave a good thing?”  

She stood up, grabbing a drink from the decanter, “Who said it was a good thing?”  

Petyr’s eyes flashed at her suggestion that things were not enjoyable enough, “Your moaning and panting was a strong indicator that you enjoyed it too.  The things you said…”  

She walked around to the front of the desk and leaned back against it, just as she had the last time he was in her office.  She looked down at him, exuding power, as she had before.  Though now it felt distant and removed.  “Pillow talk, nothing more.”  

He followed the curves of her legs as they crossed in front of her, and remembered what it felt like to have them surround him.  She wore a modest dress, one that covered the indents of her stomach muscles, and corralled her breasts together.  His mind traveled to a time when they were free and untamed, blooming under his touch.  He felt his body respond to the memory, more so than just the stiffening of his cock.  He felt his heart beat louder and more erratically as he remembered what it was like to share that intimacy with her.  And there was something more, a feeling he couldn’t explain.    

It was primal.  He couldn’t control or stop it.  This feeling of knowing her so intimately, gave him a sense of entitlement.  Rights even.  To her.  It was wrong, and he knew it.  But this was beyond right and wrong, deep down in his simple brain.  The part that controlled his basic needs to eat, sleep, and fuck—his Id.  A place in his brain where he could only utter one syllable words like, “want, mine, now.”  He could not describe it, not without sounding like a caveman.  He tried his best as he squeaked out, “I’ve been  _ inside _ you.” 

She blinked once, face stone cold and still.  He knew instantly that he said the wrong thing.  But what was the right thing?  Venom dripped from her lips as she said, “So has a tampon – it doesn’t mean anything.”

Petyr flew forward from the chair and pressed his fists on the desk, pinning her between his arms.  He hunched over her, face inches from hers.  Sansa reclined, her expression not changing, as she faced him directly.  Slowly, Petyr spoke through gritted teeth, “It meant something.”  

Her eyes dilated as she stared back and said, “Not to me.”  

Before he knew what he was doing, he crashed his lips down on hers with ardor.  He wanted to lift his fists off the desk and wrap them around her small frame, crushing it to his.  But even though he momentarily lost control, there was a nagging voice in his head that reined him in, telling him not to push it.  As he was thinking this, he realized that he was still kissing her  _ and she wasn’t stopping him.   _ In fact, he could swear she was arching up into him.  

Petyr smiled triumphantly into her lips, slowing their embrace, and pulling back.  He watched her blink and find her bearings under him.  His instinct was to ask her,  _ What were you saying? _  But this was not the time to be smug.  He went for brutal honesty, “I can feel you need me too.”  

Her reply slow and labored, “If you don’t leave right now, I will have Jon  _ make _ you.”

Petyr slowly retracted himself, standing up straight, his voice slow and deliberate, “I will leave because you want me to.  But do not flash your boy at me or I’ll start to see him as an obstacle.”  

She straightened herself as well, eyes fixed on him as he slowly retreated.  When he reached the doorway, he stated again, “The Mockingbird opens next Thursday night.  It would please me if you came.”  She never responded but never broke her gaze as he left. 

Waiting the two days for Thursday to arrive felt endless.  He entered the club early under the pretense of making sure things were in place, though he had always trusted Varys for that.  In that area, he never disappointed.  He had shared with Varys the various things he wanted done to the place:  textures, colors.  

He chose a dark mahogany wood for the bar after seeing the dining table Sansa sat at every morning.  The periwinkle blue satin curtains were a nod to her little blue robe, some brown suede accompanied it to give a more masculine feel.  Frosted glass dividers for the booths reminded him of the sliding glass door he often watched her through.  He never would have chosen glass before, it required more maintenance and was easily broken if things got out of hand.  As Petyr looked around his new hub for operations, he realized just how much influence she had over the past month.  He started the project long before ever laying eyes on her in the Doghouse, but as he gravitated more towards her, so did his designs.

People started filtering in, shaking hands and offering compliments.  Petyr smiled politely though kept his eye on the door, waiting and wondering.  And then he didn’t have to wonder anymore.  Clegane showed up with Sansa on his arm.  As always, she was gorgeous, but Petyr didn’t allow himself the pleasure of admiring her beauty.  Instead he locked onto her face, focused, searching for any sign of intimacy as she looked back.  

He accepted Sandor’s hand, as it was the societal expectation, though he wanted to use the grip on his hand to tear him away from Sansa.  He knew that he could not, the setting they were in would not allow it.  He did take comfort however in knowing that while Sansa was clear that she did whatever she wanted, he was sure that Clegane would lose his mind over the thought of his “cum-guzzling slut” texting Petyr, or on a date with Petyr, let alone sliding up and down on Petyr’s cock.  Petyr’s smile was showing, he couldn’t contain it.  Fortunately, Clegane must have thought it was simply due to the joy of opening night.  

Sansa held her hand out, as was expected, and Petyr took it.  He moved to place a chaste kiss on her knuckles as he felt he would be able to get away with it, though as he leaned in, she pulled her hand quickly away.  Her eyes squinted, communicating her desire for reduced contact.  The Hound chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist.  Self preservation made Petyr remember her curled up in his lap, purring into his chest as he slid his hands over her.  He carried the memory to keep his spirits up.    

The night carried on and Petyr’s eyes hardly left Sansa, a magnetic force pulling his gaze.  She stood with Clegane, hardly speaking or contributing.  She maintained the same mildly amused expression that Petyr knew was false, as he read her body language.  He continued to look for opportunities to catch her alone, to separate her from the pack.  As if she could read his mind, she remained unavailable, gluing herself to Clegane’s side.  

A couple of times he caught her looking back at him, expressionless.  When engaged, she offered others a practiced smile.  It was a terrible look for her as Petyr felt she was too strong and independent to be eye candy, merely hanging from the Hound’s sleeve.  At the end of the evening, Clegane and his small crew made for the door, Sansa with them as well.  Petyr felt disappointment settle inside him at her departure.  

After a successful opening night, Petyr closed The Mockingbird down for the evening.  He sat alone counting the cash earned, still feeling the torture of watching her move around a room all night and not being able to touch or speak to her.  He felt an urgent need to see her.  He dialed his phone as he jumped in his car.    

Petyr arrived at Sansa’s house with Bronn in tow.  Jon Snow moved to block the doorway, arms crossed in a stance of certainty.  There was no way that he was going to allow Petyr entrance.  Petyr spoke with the same certainty, “I’m here to see Sansa and you’re going to allow me.  I’ve brought my friend Bronn here to assure that.”  

Snow didn’t speak, his stance firm, though his eyes darted over the two of them.

Bronn smiled and crossed his arms, mirroring Jon.  “You’re new to this, aren’t you?  Bouncers at clubs stand like this to feel bigger.  You’re not a big man though, are ya Snow?”  

Petyr smiled as Snow looked back at Bronn.

Bronn continued, “But size doesn’t matter when guns are in play.  Bouncers try to look bigger because they can’t have guns.  And I think we all know that guns are ever present in these circumstances.”  

Jon shifted uncomfortably on his feet, keeping his arms folded, unwilling to change his stance in response.  

Bronn smiled at Jon’s visible discomfort.  “The thing about guns is, they’re more often than not sitting on a hip.  How fast can you unhook your arms, reach down, unholster your gun, pull it out -- careful not to get all caught up on your coat pocket, and draw it on a man?”  

Petyr watched both men stand, unmoving, staring back into the other’s eyes, looking for any indication of movement, of trouble.  And then all of a sudden, Snow’s arms buckled, dropping down.  Petyr’s eyes darted to Bronn, who in one fluid movement drew his gun out from under his armpit, had it cocked and pointed at Jon’s nose.  Jon had just gotten his gun unholstered and was holding it down to his side.  

Bronn held his other hand out and said, “Give it here.”  

Though he hesitated at first, Jon handed it over.  Bronn sighed and said, “Okay kid, I’m getting paid a lot of money to do a very easy job.”  

Petyr smirked.  

Bronn continued, “All I have to do is get you away from that door, and keep you away until Baelish decides to leave.  Could be the whole fucking night, or it could just be the next five minutes.”  

Jon looked over at Petyr with contempt.  

Bronn lowered the gun, holstering it back under his armpit.  “Now, I’d love to be paid for only five minutes of work, but I’ve seen your lady boss.  And I’m expecting we’ll be here a while, if he has his way.”  Bronn gestured towards Petyr.  “So why don’t you and I go sit down on the patio and have a nice game of cards while we wait?”  He pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket.  

Reluctantly, Jon moved out of the way of the door and walked towards the patio.  Bronn looked over at Petyr and said, “He doesn’t say much, does he?”  

Petyr smiled in response and watched Bronn shuffle cards as he walked toward Jon.  

When Petyr stepped inside, he was instantly confronted by Sansa, “Most people knock, and they don’t have standoffs at the front door.”

Petyr didn’t try to apologize, “I’m not most people and you know that.”  

“What do you want?”  She spat back, frustration clearly eating at her.

He put his hands in his pockets and looked at her with patience, “You know what I want.”  

“I’m not fucking you.”  She walked away from him, drawing him further into her home.  

He followed, “You did.”  

She pulled a glass out of the cupboard as she said, “Past tense.”  

“It doesn’t have to be.  In fact, it shouldn’t be.  Why don’t you want more?”  He was inching closer to her, being in the same room wasn't enough.  

She ignored his question, and continued to face away as she said, “You only want what you can’t have, again.”

“No.”  His voice plead with her, “It’s not like that.  I  _ only _ want you.”  

She set the glass down and spun around, “Come on now Baelish, you fuck loads of women.  Don’t act like what we did was any different or special.”  

Petyr stared back into her glassy eyes as he advanced closer, now within reach, “There’s a difference between fucking  _ a _ woman--scratching an itch, and fucking  _ your _ woman.”  

She scoffed.  

“You are  _ my woman _ .  This is not a presumption.  You confirm it every time you look back into my eyes, and every time your body responds to my touch.  It’s in every sound that you make when we’re together.”  He was a mere foot from her, looking deeply in her eyes.  

Petyr heard a loud crack before he felt the warm sting of a palm across his cheek.  He made no move to touch or sooth where she had slapped him.  He stood there, eyes still transfixed on hers, cheek reddened.  

She looked back at him, eyes blinking, waiting for a response.  When she didn’t get one to match her fury, she turned around and gripped the counter, as she screamed, “GO AWAY!” 

Silence hung in the air for a moment as Petyr absorbed her ferocity.  She labored through gritted teeth, “Why won’t you leave me alone?  Every fucking day I am torn apart by your desire.  I can not deal with it ANYMORE!”  

Petyr inhaled, surprised by her rage.  She always appeared so cool and dispassionate, and in this moment, he saw her fly off her handle.  Before he could say anything in response, her voice sounded again, deadly, “I can not care what you feel.  Do not burden me with your feelings.  Mine alone are too heavy to carry.  Go away.”    

Mostly speechless from witnessing her pain, Petyr whispered, “No,” as he moved forward and gently slid an arm around her waist, letting his palm rest on her belly.  She dropped her hands down and started pulling at his fingers, trying to pry him from her.  He clamped down harder, refusing to release his grip as his other arm slipped under hers and came up to grip the front of her shoulder.  He rested his injured cheek on her shoulder blade and inhaled her scent.  

He felt her muscles relax as she allowed him to hold her.  Over a week of resistance eroded when met with the supportive physical contact she must have secretly craved.  Neither of them spoke as they stood together for a long time.  Slowly, she turned in his arms and looked up at him, searching his face.  They leaned into each other more, finding their familiar kiss, and then he pulled at her, leading her to the stairs, “You need rest.”  Once at the top, he shifted her ahead of him so she could lead the way to her bedroom.  

As he stepped into the room, Petyr looked down at the bed and then back at her and said, “Let’s go to bed.”

Her arms gathered around her stomach and tensed as she saw him slip his shoes off and start unbuttoning his shirt.  He unbuckled his pants and she said, “I’m not fucking.”  

Standing in his underwear, he offered a soft smile as he said, “Okay.”

She slid her shoes off and put them next to his and turned around for him to unzip her dress.  Petyr slid the shoulders and the material fell, bunching around her hips.  He pressed his palms flat against her sides and slid them under the material allowing it to drop down off her body.  

Both stood in their underwear, staring at each other.  It was not the sexy dim light from the mini bar of the mirrored limousine, but instead a bright overhead light illuminating every square inch of both of them.  Petyr leaned forward, kissing her on the forehead and said, “Go get in bed, I’ll get the light.”  

Sansa turned and climbed on the bed as he instructed.  She had hesitated though seemed assured by his warm gaze and steady voice.  

Petyr turned off the light and used the moonlight from the window to find his way to her.  He climbed on the bed next to her and reached over, offering a warm embrace.  She deepened the kiss in return.  He felt that she was restraining herself, allowing only the slightest of moans to escape her lips.  

Slowly, he reached around and unclasped her bra. She stiffened and pulled away from their kiss.  He explained, “I just want to feel your skin against mine.”  

She nodded her understanding as he eased the shoulder straps down, relieving the cups of their duty, freeing her breasts.  He noted with pleasure that she did not resist him.  His hands left her body and he shifted his boxers off, exposing himself to her. 

He laid away from her, not touching, allowing her the space to decide what she was comfortable with.  She reached forward and placed a hand on his chest, showing her own desire for contact.  

She paused for a moment, as they searched each other’s eyes for meaning and assurance.  She tugged her hand back and he released it.  She reached down, hooking her thumbs to either side of her underwear and lifted her hips as she slid them off.  

Both of them completely exposed in the moonlight, Petyr scooted the comforter out from under them and pulled it to cover them as he brought their bodies together.  He tucked her head under his chin.  Her breasts pressed into him, both their arms wrapped around the other, locking them in place.  Their legs intertwined, his thigh slid up between her legs, stopping where they met, feeling the damp heat that originated there.  She hoisted a leg up over his, holding him close to her.  She felt his erection jab into her abdomen as she said in a light tone, “No fucking, huh?”  

He offered a soft chuckle as he kissed her hair, “I can’t help how good you feel.  Stop squirming, and it will go down.”

It eventually did, and he felt any remaining tension leave her body as she fell completely asleep in his arms.  He allowed himself to follow her into slumber.  

A smile spread across his face at the memory as they pulled up to 42 Kings Road and Petyr looked at Sansa’s old house.  His eyes instantly found the bedroom window as he remembered every detail of that room and the intimacy they shared in it.  

_ Time is running out.  Don’t you want me? _

Petyr looked at his phone pleadingly.   _ I always want you. _

_ Come find me.  I need you.   _

Petyr felt her urgency.  All this time she had been playing with him, teasing and tickling him with her words.  She was different now, though.  She was serious.  

He typed back,  _ Tell me. _

_ Surround and invade me with yourself.  I want to surrender to you and fall apart in your arms.   _

He felt that familiar tingle as he checked the time and realized he had sixteen minutes left on the clock.  He told the driver the last possible place she could be, “222 Sanderstone Place.” 


	9. Hunting a Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He managed to choke out, “Dumb bitch can’t even kill me right.”

The car drove on and Petyr’s stomach swirled at the memory of what happened after the first time Sansa Stark allowed a man to sleep over through the night.  It was the first time he held her until the purple and orange hours of the morning.  Sadness washed over him at the memory of lying alone in Sansa’s bed.  He woke when he rolled onto a piece of paper sitting on the pillow next to him.  It read,  _ Nothing’s changed.  Move on. _

The fuck it hadn’t and the fuck he would.  Petyr threw the blankets back and propelled himself out of bed.  He ran naked through the house calling out, “Sansa!”

Realizing that she had truly left, he threw his clothes on, and jammed his feet into his shoes.  He charged through the door, buttoning his shirt.  Bronn was skimming some leaves out of the pool with a net when he looked up and saw Petyr, “Finally.”  

“Are you cleaning the pool?”  Petyr looked in disbelief as he tucked his shirt back into his pants as he walked.  “Nevermind.  What are you still doing here?”  

Bronn followed along beside him, “Instructions were to keep Snow away from the door until you came out.  You never said anything about her leaving, so I kept my word and waited for you to cross the threshold.  Heavy sleeper are ya?”  

Petyr could have hit him.  He unlocked his car and climbed in, “Get in.”  

“Job’s done.”  Bronn stood still outside the car, against Petyr’s will.  

“New job.  Get in.”  Petyr pointed at the door to the car.  

“Terms?”  Bronn cocked an eyebrow.  

Urgency flooded through Petyr as he wanted to bark, “Get in the fucking car!”  But he knew that Bronn would not obey unless paid, and he wouldn’t work unless he knew the terms of the job.  He took a deep breath and controlled his speech, “Same as before.  Once we find her, you keep any obstacle out of my way.  You don’t leave until I do.  Get in.”  

Bronn came around the car and sat in the passenger seat.  He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it.  Petyr was speeding down the road, focused on the changing light ahead of him.  He only vaguely noticed Bronn pull a couple of aces out of the chest pocket on his leather jacket and put them back in the deck of cards he had been carrying in a separate pocket.  “Snow’s the obstacle, right?”  

“Probably.”  Petyr screeched on the brakes as the car ahead of him slowed down suddenly to allow another car to change into its lane.  

“Good.”  Bronn chuckled and then added, “He’s smart enough to not put up too much of a fight, doesn’t talk your ear off, and is complete shit at cards.  All in all, I’ve had to babysit worse for less.”  

Petyr didn’t care about any of Bronn’s anecdotes right then.  He was focused on getting to Sansa at all costs, he didn’t care what lights he had to run, cops he had to pay off, bodyguards he had to remove.  He had spent the last two weeks agonizing over his feelings for her, getting rejecting by her, and craving her.  He had just felt the warmth of her acceptance and the hope of a second chance.  And it was slipping through his fingertips.  Another breathtaking night shattered by the rejection of the morning.  

He skidded into a parking space against the curb in front of the art gallery.  Petyr jumped out and rushed forward while Bronn took his time exiting the vehicle.  

Snow stood by the door as usual and Petyr growled, “Move.”  

Snow’s hand sat on the hilt of his gun, determined not to be slow on the draw again.  He glared back at Petyr.  

Bronn sauntered up and sighed, “You might think that because the lady left, our time together would be over.  No such luck.  However, judging by the way that she left this morning, this visit will be the five minute one.  Probably long enough for one more round.”  Bronn held up the deck of cards again.  

Jumpy at the sudden movement, Jon pulled his gun out and pointed it at Bronn’s face.  Petyr was not impressed by this display and said, “Imbecile.  It’s broad daylight, and we are on a city street.  You need to learn how to handle situations discreetly.  Now put the gun down and move out of my way.”  

As Petyr was talking, Bronn had slowly put the deck of cards back in his outer chest pocket and in one fluid movement gripped the top of the gun with one hand and drove his other hand into Jon’s wrist, making him loosen his grip and release the gun.  Bronn successfully twisted it out of his hand, disarming him.  He immediately put it in his belt loop, ending the spectacle on the street.  Bronn knew how to be discreet.  “Do you like that?”  He asked both men, referring to his maneuver as if it were a party trick meant to entertain.  

Petyr smiled and motioned for Jon to move with his eyes.  Snow hesitated but was clearly coming to the realization that there was nothing he could do and slowly started to move out of the way.  Bronn slapped his arm on his shoulder, “Don’t feel bad, no one could have done any better.  The trick is to cup your hand.  Some people think, ‘slap the wrist’ but the power comes from the side of your hand when you cup it and drive it into the wrist, increases speed too.”

At that moment, Petyr was not interested in trade secrets, he plowed through the doorway and into the lobby of the art gallery.  Sansa was standing there waiting for him, and there was something different about her face; it was softer.  

All the pent up energy and emotions seeped out of him as he stood deflated, reading her face.  It was not cold or dispassionate like the last time she had rejected him.  It was sad and broken.  She looked how he felt.  

She was the first to speak, “I can’t leave him.  Not yet.”

“Yes, you can.  You’re Sansa Stark-- you do ‘what and who’ you want.”  He hoped that using her own words against her would make an impact.  

“Yes.”  She admitted.  

A sickness creeped up in his stomach and and he felt a cold sweat come over him, “You _ want _ him?”  

She held herself, arms wrapped tight around, “Not how you think.”  

He started to walk towards her, palms up in the air, non-threatening, “Tell me.  Help me understand.  Please.”  

Her bottom lip trembled and Petyr watched her bite down to stop it.  Through glassy eyes, she said, “I can’t.  I have to see this through.”  

“Maybe we can see this through together?”  Petyr didn’t understand a word she was saying, but he was desperately grasping at anything that might work.

She shook her head and tried to turn away as Petyr finally reached her, and gripped her folded arms.  “I have to finish this.  I will come back to you after, if…”  Her voice cracked, “If you still want me.”  

Petyr’s head throbbed in pain.  He could not understand why this was happening.  His hands traveled from her arms to her back as he enveloped her.  He burrowed his face into her neck and inhaled her scent, “You are mine.”  It was both a statement and a question.  

He felt tears wet his shoulder as her head nodded affirmatively.  

“Good.”  He kissed her neck and rested his cheek against hers.  “I am going to figure this out.  I will know what you are not telling me.  And then I will come for you.”  

She started to protest but was unable to get words out before he covered her lips with his.  Their kiss started slow, pleading for allowance.  And then it intensified, promising what could be.  Petyr lost control of himself as his lips pulled at hers and his tongue dove into hers.  She met him, pull for tug and lick for bite.  They both moaned into each other, both sets of fingers digging into the other’s back, both bodies arched completely into the other.  Petyr’s hands had traveled up to cradle her head as their mouths continued to express the magnitude of the situation.             

Finally, Petyr roared as he tore his lips away from hers.  His fingers remained bunched in her hair holding her in place as they both panted, trying to find the ground under their feet again.  Her face was puffy and drained of color except for the red splotches and the shiney streams of tears that trailed down her cheeks.  Petyr’s own eyes were red-rimmed, and he let go of her hair to wipe away the moisture that formed before it spilled down his cheek too.  He wanted to say something profound and assuring, something to leave on that would inspire confidence in his determination and tell her how he felt.  But he could not form words, he slowly released her and took a couple steps backwards.  Their eyes remained locked on each others, taking in the emotions that poured over their faces and tore their hearts open.  The image of her standing before him, face twisted in agony seared into his brain.  He slowly turned away and walked out the door, finding a strength that he hadn’t recognized before.  Seeing her like that filled him with murder.  

Bronn caught sight of him from the door and instantly read him, “Went that well, did it?”  

Petyr did not answer him as he climbed in his car.  Bronn hopped in beside him and Petyr looked at him curiously.  Bronn sighed and said, “You give a look like that, it means you got another job for me.  Figured I’d know the terms.”

Petyr’s hands gripped the steering wheel as he gunned it.  Bronn’s eyebrows rose, “Littlefinger losing his cool over a broad, she must have a gold covered snatch dipped in absinthe.  I hear the firecrotches are a more wild breed, but is it worth it to lose your head when you dip your dick in her?”

In a split second, Petyr’s hand dropped between his seat and his console and he pulled up a knife that he had stored there.  As he drove the car, he pointed it at Bronn next to him, his teeth grinding.  Bronn put his hands up in surrender.  “Seems like it is.” 

Petyr left his arm up, knife still pointing at Bronn.  For a moment, he fantasized about it being the Hound at the other end of the knife.  Bronn brought him back to reality.  “I gave you that because you are clearly tangled up over this chick.  But be careful now, you are not usually the one that does these things, don’t forget how easily I could reverse this situation.” 

Petyr shook the thought of the Hound out of his head and lowered the knife, placing it back where he got it.  Bronn complimented him, “Nifty spot, always good to be prepared.”  

Petyr kept his eyes on the road but his mind flashed images of his past as he responded, “I wasn’t always so comfortable, I had to scratch and claw my way here just like everyone else.”  

After a long silence, Bronn asked, “So, how soon do you want me to hunt the Hound?”  

Petyr parked the car and turned, “It’s not that easy.  I can’t just kill this one.  I need to find out why she’s so caught by him, and then I will kill him myself.”

Bronn cleared his throat, “You sure you don’t need me?”  

“I may require some assistance later acquiring him.  But I can’t rush into this, not until I know what I’m dealing with.  I’ll be in touch.”  

Bronn left and walked for his mustang.  Petyr sped straight for The Mockingbird.  He needed Varys and all his wonderful information sources.  

“How deep do you want me to dig?”  Varys asked cautiously.  

Petyr had already known that she had inherited her fortune after her parents were killed and that her older brother was useless, running off to another country to live his life on a steady stipend.  He knew that she was legitimate, but that she wanted back in the life.  He remembered the night at Unveiled when she was speaking to Daisy, how she locked the children away.  “Varys, she has family.  I want to know what happened to them.”  

The story she told and the cold disconnected way in which she told it was chilling.  Petyr tried to picture Sansa younger and couldn’t.  How old was she?  Petyr started picking through the information that Varys had brought to him back when he first started following Sansa and read the newspaper clipping that said, “Ned and Catelyn are survived by their son Robert 18, daughter Sansa 14, daughter Arya 12, son Brandon 10, and son Rickon 6.”  

_ Fourteen. _  What was he doing during the Stark-take over?  He was delivering special packages for Jon Arryn, and fucking Lysa Arryn.  She was an anorexic horse-face woman, but she was his ticket out of package deliveries.  At fourteen, Sansa was still developing and innocent.  She would probably not know much of her parents business, or have been so acquainted with her sexuality that she understood fucking for advancement.  Petyr read the date of the article and started counting to find out how long ago it had been.  

Six years.  That sounded right to Petyr, as he was thirty-four now.  Naturally his mind added the six to the fourteen and he realized that the Sansa he was consumed by was still so young.  He knew she was young and gorgeous and filled with vitality.  She was also raised in a different world by powerful people and witnessed ruthless acts that aged her.  Twenty year olds didn’t kiss the way Sansa did, they couldn’t understand the need or the possession involved.  She was not too innocent to comprehend the war of two bodies joining.  

Petyr brought his thoughts back to the Stark-take over.  It was orchestrated by the Arryns, not Jon, but Lysa.  Like any ugly and jealous sister, she hated Catelyn and yearned for her downfall.  She convinced Jon that Ned and Catelyn were going to turn on them and join forces with the Lannisters and that they had to be taken out.  Jon sanctioned the hit, but everyone knew it was Lysa.  At the time, Petyr never paid much attention.  He was too ambitious, too focused on his own climb.  He remembered seeing Catelyn’s picture in the news and thinking of the wasted beauty.  He never thought of the children or what would become of them.  

For a few years, the Arryns controlled the north and the east until Lysa finally turned on Jon.  She hopped into bed with Clegane, promising to give him the north if he took out her husband and left her the east side.  The Hound’s father agreed and sent his sons Sandor and Gregor for Jon one night while he was out for a drive.  Both Jon and his driver were shot execution-style, two to the skull.         

What Lysa hadn’t counted on was that Petyr had been forming his own connections and creating quite a name for himself in the quiet corners of the city.  He cleaned up messes, greased palms, and did favors.  He was dealing with the Hound as his brother, a great mountain of a man -- nicknamed so for his size and stupidity, was in jail again.  Petyr and Sandor made a pact to help each other advance. Sandor strangled Lysa in the bathroom of a benefit dinner.  Petyr cut the brakes on the car transporting Clegane’s father and then he met him at the bottom of the embankment and snapped his neck with his gloved hands.  It was important that it looked like an accident.  If it was an obvious hit, the Hound would be obligated to retaliate, to save face with his men.  Lysa didn’t matter as her whole family was dead, save for a young son that was taken by the state.  

Petyr and Sandor took their positions as head of their areas, and had been for the past two years.  Petyr always wanted more, but for the time was content with how things were.  Clegane was simple and easy to manipulate.  For the most part he sided with Petyr and was a good support should any trouble arise with the other families.  

All that changed the moment Petyr saw the beautiful redhead sitting next to the Hound, playing with her necklace and looking bored with the illegal activity in front of her.  He started seeing Clegane as more and more idiotic and his annoyance with the man intensified.  Each time he witnessed him touch the gorgeous lady with the exotic name, Petyr pictured taking his place.  With every kiss they shared, Petyr felt the imposition of the Hound’s presence.  The night she rode Petyr’s lap writhing in ecstasy, he knew Clegane would have to die for his intimate knowledge of her.  Seeing her tear streaked face as she told Petyr she had to stay with the Hound, Petyr knew that he would be the one doing the killing.  

The next day Varys arrived with files and pictures.  The first one dropped on the desk was a man with long curly brown hair and stubble.  Varys spoke over the picture, “As you know, the oldest Robb is out of the country, receiving a regular stipend from Sansa.  He’s married to one of those traveling doctors who manages epidemics in various third world countries.”

Petyr thought of Sansa all alone managing the family’s estate, “How noble.”  

Varys caught his tone, “Well, he was at one time.  Apparently, he was eighteen when his parents were killed.  With the help of his parent’s lawyers, he was awarded custody of all the other children.  He kept them from foster care.”  

“There was no other family?”  Petyr thought of Lysa, as detestable as she was.  

Varys followed Petyr’s thought and answered, “Lysa was uninterested, though offered Robb the use of her lawyers to aid his cause.  And the uncle Edmure, is in prison, and has been for the past eight years--trafficking cocaine.  It wasn’t his first offense.”  

Varys dropped Sansa’s file down.  On top was a picture of Sansa standing outside of Highgarden, her hair parted down the middle, resting on a navy blue pea coat as she smiled away from her coffee cup.  “She took over custody of her three younger siblings upon turning age eighteen, allowing her brother to terminate parental rights and relocate.”

“When was this taken?  Who is she talking to?”  Petyr asked possessively, touching the picture.  

Varys must have anticipated his interest, “Three weeks ago, her bodyguard, Jon Snow.”  

Three weeks ago was before their limousine ride and around the time of their date at White Harbor.  Was she happy from their time together?  He remembered the warm feelings he carried at that time as well.  His brain stopped suddenly.  “She was talking to Jon Snow?”

“Apparently, he only talks to her--she understands ASL.”  Varys answered as he placed the file of Jon Snow down on on the table below Sansa’s.  “He was staying with the Starks after both his parents died in a car accident.  He was the first one found, the night of the massacre, down on the first floor.  He was stabbed multiple times and rumor has it that to silence his screaming, they cut out his tongue.  He was left to die, but he somehow survived.  He’s been loyal to Sansa ever since.”

Varys set a file down next to Sansa’s.  On the cover was a picture of a sinewy girl with short brown hair hanging down in a tangle to her sharp jaw line.  Black eyeliner smudged around her eyes, her lips a dark bruised color, and around her neck was an overabundance of chains and necklaces.  In the cheekbones and chin, Petyr could see echoes of Sansa, “This is Arya?”  

Varys nodded, “She’s eighteen now.  She avoids the city, and receives the interest off of her trust fund to live on each month.  No one knows where she lives.  It’s believed that she moves from place to place, keeping only what she can carry on her motorcycle.”

Two more files were set on the table next to Arya’s, the pictures almost identical except for the hair color.  The older boy had darker brown hair and the younger had sandier brown hair.  “Brandon, 16 and Rickon, 12.  Sansa has kept both boys in boarding school.  Brandon’s about to be expelled for getting caught with pot on campus.”  

“Does Sansa know?”  Petyr found himself invested in the drama of the family he was only just then discovering.  

Varys nodded, “She has a meeting scheduled to address it.”  

“When?”  Petyr began flipping through Brandon’s file.  

Varys cocked an eyebrow, “I can find out.”  

“Yes, do.”  Petyr looked at the faces of everyone tied to his Sansa, splayed out on the table before him.  “Anything I should know?  Anything standing out to you?”  

Varys pointed at Arya’s photo.  “The call history says that she spoke with Sansa on the phone six times in the past month.”  

“Is that a lot?”  Petyr had no idea what was normal for sisters.  

“For them it is.”  Varys pulled the call history out of the file and compared it against the months prior, “See, they aren’t very talkative typically.”  

Petyr nodded, seeing the significance.  “Arrange a meeting with her.  I don’t care when, as soon as possible.”  

Shortly after Varys parted, he texted Petyr,  _ The boy’s meeting is tomorrow at 11:00am.   _

Petyr typed back,  _ And the girl? _

The response was immediate,  _ Wolfswood Tavern 10:00PM.   _

Petyr sighed and reached in his desk drawer for the bottle of perfume stored there.  He twisted it open and set it under his nose.  The light rain smell was almost identical to the smell Sansa wore.  It lacked her natural scent mingled with it, but it still helped to soothe him in her absence. 

The next morning, Petyr appeared at Brandon’s school early and waited blithely for Sansa to arrive.  She didn’t notice him when she got out of the car, keeping her head down, focusing on the front steps she was climbing.  It wasn’t until she saw a hand in front of her that she looked up and spotted him.  She accepted him with a bemused look on her face.  

“What are you doing here?”  She asked as he casually slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him as he held her hand. 

“Helping.”  He smiled and gripped her finger, sliding a ring on it.  “Wear this.”  

She had been looking at him, her brow furrowed in question, though she looked down at the feel of him placing a ring on her finger.  Her eyes widened at the sight of the three carat emerald cut ring on her finger.  She appeared at a loss for words as he spoke, “Perfect.”  

As she opened her mouth, about to speak, a middle-aged woman with a scowl called, “Miss Stark.”  

Petyr interjected, “It’s actually, Mrs. Baelish.  My wife and I are here on behalf of young Brandon.”           

The teacher looked surprised and her face softened, “Oh, I didn’t realize, please come in.”  

Petyr kept his arm around Sansa and lead her into the office and sat her beside him.  Petyr maintained his hold on her hand, not letting go.  At first Sansa gaped back at him, clearly still so shocked at the play they were enacting.  But after the meeting started and the administrators listed off Brandon’s many offenses, Petyr felt her other hand cup over his in a gesture of acceptance and appreciation.  As the meeting dragged on, their eyes met in warmth and shared thought.  

Petyr smiled knowingly at Sansa and turned to the teacher, wanting to speed things along, he flexed his influence.  “Surely, you can understand how upsetting this all is to my wife.  Brandon is not our child, but he’s her brother and therefore I view his care as my personal responsibility.  I could never allow any child in my charge to go without an education.  Expelling him is out of the question, naturally.  We’ll send him to substance abuse counseling and make a donation to finance a substance abuse support program on campus.  I hope we can move past this issue together for Brandon’s sake.”  

After a momentary pause, Petyr heard them extend their thanks to “Mr. and Mrs. Baelish.”  He helped Sansa out of her seat and lead her back out the door with his free hand on the small of her back.  

She was the first to speak as they walked through the hallway to the main exit, “I thought you were against marriage?  Called it ‘shackling yourself to someone permanently’ if I recall correctly.”  

Petyr smiled as he advanced on her, letting his hands sit on her sides.  “You’re the only person I’d let handcuff me.”  

She smiled back at his flirt and her breath caught as his hands smoothed up her sides over her ribs.  Nevertheless, she pushed further, “ _ Mrs. Baelish? _  One might think this is your way of proposing.”  

Petyr leaned in and kissed her cheek, “It’s good to try things on.”  

Sansa smiled as she reached over and ran her fingers through his hair, “And?”  

He smiled, “You fit.”  

She smiled at first, though it quickly faded and her eyes filled with sorrow as she recounted the reality of the situation, “We said goodbye--we parted.”

Not allowing himself to be phased, Petyr brought her hand up to his kiss and he reminded her, “Temporarily.  I’m here to support you with your brother because I want to be that person for you.  And I want to let you know that I’m working on things, it’s just a matter of time.”  

She sighed and pulled her hand out of his.  She looked away, her lips pursed, “No.  Let it go.”  

Feeling the sting of her now absent hand, Petyr felt a heat rise in him.  His tone deepened, “You said you were mine.  We could be together if you would just tell me why you can’t leave him.”  

Her arms were at her sides and her face had turned to violence as she hissed, “No!  I’ve been working on this for too long to allow you to swoop in and fix it all for me.”

“We could do it together.”  He pressed impatiently, “You saw how well we worked together in there.”  

She stiffened as he tried to pull her into an embrace.  She pulled the ring from her finger and pushed it into his palm.  “ _ You _ handled the situation.  There was no  _ we. _ ”  

She turned to pull open the main door when Petyr’s arm reached out and stopped her.  His voice softened as he tried to explain himself, “I just wanted you to see how helpful I can be if you include me.”  

She placed her hand over his and gave it a squeeze in understanding, “I want to.  And if I saw a way that you could help, I would.  I just can’t.”  

Petyr curled down into her, breathing in her scent one last time as he untied the scarf from around her neck and held it under his nose, then tucked it in his pocket.   “Until we can be together.”   

At her unmoving silence, he held up the ring before putting it safely away, “This is yours.  I picked it specifically for you.  One day I’ll give it to you again, and I hope you keep it.”  

He left her standing in the doorway to think about sharing her burden with him.  As Petyr got in his car he thought about how he behaved in the meeting.  He had just stepped in and taken over, automatically.  She was right, there was no  _ we _ there.  For as much as he wanted her to share with him, he realized he needed to learn to do the same with her.   

Wolfswood Tavern was a seedy establishment to say the least.  The neon lights were barely visible behind the dingy windows and the motorcycles lined up around the building were old, beat up, and at least ten years old.  No hot, new crotch-rockets were allowed.  Petyr’s Lexus stood out regardless of how far away he parked it.  The noise was excessive as the hard-rock music pulsed out of the jukebox.  Arguing, rough-housing, and carousing filled any quiet left from the jukebox.  Petyr scanned the room, though did not see anyone that fit the picture he’d seen.  

No sooner did he sit down at an empty and filthy table in the corner, than a young woman wearing black leather chaps over some jeans and a leather vest sat down across from him.  He wondered for a moment where she came from, but was easily distracted by the jumble of necklaces dangling down into her small cleavage.  He caught himself and brought his attention up to her face.  Arya Stark stared back him through her smudgy charcoal eyes.  Her dark lips formed words, “I got the cash, what do you want to know?”  

Petyr thought about confirming that it was Arya, but didn’t want to waste time on something he already knew.  “Tell me about Sansa.”  

“What about her?”  She motioned to the bartender and held up two fingers.  

Petyr wouldn’t mince words, “What is she doing with the Hound?”  

“The who?”  Arya leaned back in her seat, face scrunched in confusion.  

“Sandor.  Clegane.  He runs the whole upper side of the city.”  Petyr found it very hard to believe that Arya Stark didn’t know who the Hound was.  

She shook her head and grabbed one of the two beers that had just been set on the table.  “I don’t know, maybe he has a big dick?”  

Petyr’s nostrils flared.  

Arya continued, “Look, I don’t know.  I stay out of the city.  I want no part of the shit that goes on here.  I didn’t even know that she was seeing anybody by that name.  She doesn’t talk about him.”  

“Who does she talk about?”  Petyr grabbed the second beer to maintain the look of meeting with Arya socially.  For a moment, he questioned her being served alcohol at such a young age and then he remembered where he was.  If she could walk through the front door of this place, she was clearly going to be served a drink.  

Arya shrugged, “The kids mostly.  Sometimes she talks about work or our older brother--who’s completely fucked right off.”  

Petyr started to scan the room, losing some attention.  And then he heard Arya say, “I’m pretty sure she’s fucking someone though.  She never mentioned anyone, not this Hound person, not anyone else.  But over the past few weeks she’s changed.  Something in her voice, she’s more--peaceful, happy even.  Well, as much as Sansa can be.”

He found himself intrigued, “Sansa’s not usually happy?”   

Arya chuckled sardonically, “No, Sansa’s about as dark as they come.  Don’t let the pretty face and the short skirt fool you, her heart is a twisting nether.”  

Petyr chuckled, “That’s pretty dramatic.”  

Arya nodded and picked at a freshly healing tattoo of a man with a blacked-out face on her shoulder.  “Watching someone kill your mother will do that to you.”  

“You saw someone kill your mother?”  Petyr allowed sympathy to creep up inside him.  

Arya shook her head, “No.  Sansa did.”  

Petyr blinked.  The newspapers said that both Starks’ throats were slit in their bed.  He remembered Sansa told Daisy that “some very bad men” came to her home.  His mind raced as he wondered what she saw and experienced that night.  “Tell me.”  He instructed.  

Arya squinted her eyes and then took a swig of her drink, “I charge extra for childhood trauma stories.”  

“It’s not your childhood trauma.”  Petyr reminded her.   

“Okay fine.”  She held up her hands in surrender and then continued, “Discounted rate for second hand information.”  

Petyr rolled his eyes, “Fine.  Tell me everything you know about that night.”  

Arya looked down at her drink and played with the water rings left on the table from the condensation that sweat down the bottle, “Men came to our home.  They got Jon first, he’s our cousin.  He was staying with us.  Mom woke when she heard the screaming.  She woke Robb and Sansa and told them to get us younger kids.  They did.  Got us all to Dad’s secret room.”  

Arya took a long swig from her bottle, and it was clear that it was becoming more difficult for her to talk, but she cleared her throat and popped a cigarette in her mouth.  Petyr sat silently as she lit it, took a long drag and the blew a long stream of smoke out the side of her mouth.  “Fucking Rickon.  He was six at the time -- too goddamned old to be sleeping with a teddy bear, wouldn’t stop sobbing.  He wanted his teddy and it was the only thing that would shut him up.  Sansa told Robb to stay with us kids and she’d run out and get his bear, cause she was in track in school and quieter and blah fucking blah.”  

She took another puff of her cigarette and another swallow from her drink.  “Anyway, she ran out to get the teddy bear.  She told me she saw they had mom cornered in the hallway, being fucking pigs with her.”  Arya paused for a moment and smiled, “Sansa said Mom spit at them.”

Petyr didn’t have to ask what “being fucking pigs with her” meant.  He knew all too well what men in that position would do if given the chance -- spoils of war.  He didn’t have to ask, but he did just the same.  “And they killed her for it?”

Arya nodded her head and flicked her cigarette into her empty bottle, “Slit her throat and carried her off to bed.”  

He couldn’t help thinking about if it had been him there.  Ruler of his domain.  He would be more prepared.  Where was Ned?  The newspapers said he died in his bed, but they said that about Catelyn too.  “Where was your father?”  

“He died in Ambienland.  Dad used to drink and take pills to sleep.  They cut his throat in bed.  He was unable to wake up.  We could have been screaming in his face and he wouldn’t have moved a muscle.”  Arya shrugged her shoulders as if to normalize the situation.

Petyr considered her story, “So Sansa saw who killed your mother.”  

Arya nodded.  

“Who was it?”  Petyr leaned in, completely invested.  

Arya took another long drag from her cigarette.  “Fuck if I know.”  

Petyr didn’t hide his disappointment well, “I thought you said she saw it happen.”  

“She did.  They wore masks.”  Arya waved for another drink.  “But there was one man.”  

Petyr looked up, hope bounding across his eyes, “Yes?”  

Arya leaned in, “She said she could see through the eye hole and at the bottom of his mask, where it showed his neck -- he was covered in burns.”  

Realization quaked through Petyr, his stomach lurched, and a sick sweat broke out all over his body.  Sansa was avenging her mother.  She offered herself at the Hound’s disposal to gain access to him.  Petyr’s heart hurt for her as it all clicked into place.  Why couldn’t she tell him that?  Petyr knew why.  Because he would jump in and fix it like he had with Brandon.  He would kill the Hound for her.  For him as well, Petyr had been wanting to kill him for having Sansa since before Petyr decided she was his.

“If she finds him, she’ll kill him.”  Arya smirked with pride.  

Petyr remembered the look Sansa gave as she talked about butchering the wolf’s face and knew he shouldn’t ask but couldn’t stop himself, “Do you think she could do it?”  

Arya chuckled, “No doubt.  Sansa’s got a real hate-on for him.  Plus her aim is fucking kill-shot!”  

Petyr tilted his head in question.  “She’s used a gun before?”  She played naive, allowing him to show her how to aim the Beretta. 

Arya leaned in and tapped the table with her index finger, “We’re Ned Stark’s kids.  All of us have.  We’ve been cleaning ‘em, tearing them down and putting them together since we could walk.  When we hid in that room, we hid armed.”  

“Why wasn’t Sansa armed?  When she ran back for the bear?”  Petyr pictured the room filled with guns and Sansa running empty handed.  

“She was.  She tagged one of the bastards, got a round into the man with the burns and kneecapped another for the wolves to munch on.  When she ran out of ammo, the pups turned on her.  Stabbed one to death, wears its pelt around for shits and giggles.”  Arya butted out her cigarette and then looked up at him, eyes bright under the surrounding black, “Sansa will empty a clip in him, if for no other reason than she fucked it up before.”

That got Petyr thinking, why hadn’t she killed him already?  Surely she had plenty of opportunity to do so by now.  And apparently she was very comfortable with weapons.  Petyr inhaled slowly, fluttering his eyes, trying to regroup without being too noticeable to the young Stark girl in front of him.  If he were Sansa, why wouldn’t he kill him?  What would be left behind when Sandor died?  His estate.  Sansa was proficient at handling estates.  And she did say that she wanted the north back.  She said,  _ merger. _

There was no way that Sandor would leave everything he had to a  _ girlfriend. _  Fuck.  She was going to marry him.  The sick feeling in his stomach intensified as he pictured his beauty and that beast walking down the aisle.  

Arya remained in front of him, watching the emotion sneak out on his face.  Petyr hated showing his feelings.  He instantly became defensive, “Why are you spilling all your sister’s secrets for money?  Don’t you have any loyalty to her?  Why aren’t you protecting her?”  He was determined to make her feel as bad as he felt.    

Arya Stark laughed and stood up from the booth.  She looked down at him and said, “I don’t need to protect her from you -- you’re the man she’s fucking.”  

_ Fucked. _  Once.  “What makes you say that?”  Petyr tried to appear neutral.    

She threw her head back and rolled her eyes as she smirked, “It’s all over your face.”

She walked off and wrapped her arms around a man on the dance floor with a tattoo of a bull on his bicep.  Petyr sat there staring at the empty booth across from him as he digested all that he had learned.  As he stood up to leave, he dug his phone out.  Petyr couldn’t delay any further, he had calls to make.  For a split second he had pondered whether or not to leave things as they were, not interfere with Sansa’s plan.  But quickly dismissed it as marriage could take years.  He would wait years if he had to, but he definitely didn’t have to.  

It took three days to put everything in place.  Petyr sat outside of Sansa’s with his driver and watched her pass by the window a couple of times before he texted her,  _ I have a present for you. _

She replied,  _?  _

He smiled,  _ I’m outside.  I have a driver.  _

She peeled back the curtain and peeked out.  He rolled his tinted window down and smiled up at her.  She hesitated then typed,  _ We shouldn’t.  We are just making things more difficult for ourselves.  _

Alone in the car, Petyr twisted his face in frustration.  He had worked tirelessly to line everything up, and it all came down to this night.  He typed,  _ Let me in. _

Not waiting for a response, Petyr got out of the car and strode up to her door.  Jon instantly moved aside.  Petyr found Sansa standing by the door when he came in.  She was dressed in her short periwinkle robe, and it didn’t look as though anything was under it.  

“Delicious.”  His eyes swept up her legs and then at her neckline.  

She smiled shyly, and dimples appeared.  Sansa from the limo was not shy, even when she laid with him completely naked in her bed.  He reached out, gripping a tie on her robe.  He very slowly tugged at it, with a naughty grin.  

“We shouldn’t.”  She crossed her arms over her chest, keeping her robe closed.  Her arms blocked him but her grin and voice appeared more receptive to the possibility of being unwrapped.  

Petyr continued to tug, never feeling any serious refusal from her.  Slowly the ties came undone and he saw some purple material poking out.  For an instant, he was disappointed that she wasn’t naked underneath. 

Her arms remained crossed over her chest, keeping her robe mostly closed as she said, “Did you just come here to undress me?  I thought you had a present for me.”  

“It’s something I have to show you.  You have to come with me.”  He smiled as he inched closer to her, running his finger teasingly over her forearm.  

She shook her head, concern forming on her brow, “I shouldn’t.  I can’t really go anywhere right now.  You should go.”  

There was a change in her tone.  It was nervous and heavy.  Any playfulness faded away and that got his attention.  Suddenly Petyr realized that she was not being shy, but was in fact trying to hide something from him.  He ran his eyes over her arms clenching her robe closed and he recognized that she didn’t want him to see what she was wearing.  He looked back up to her face, the color drained from it, and he knew it was serious.  He wrapped his fingers around her forearms gently and pulled.  When she resisted, he picked up his head, his eyes meeting hers, “Please?  Let me see.”  

She sighed, loosened her grip and turned her head away from him.  Petyr pulled back her arms and the sides of her robe to reveal a lavender babydoll nightie.  Petyr’s mind flashed back to the night he stood feet ground into the lawn, unable to move as he watched the Hound throw her in a similar nightie over his shoulder and carry her up the stairs to defile her in some horrific roleplay.  Jealousy raged through Petyr’s body as his fists clenched at his sides.  “Take it off.”  

Upon hearing the tone of his voice, she turned her gaze to his, in shock of the command.  It was such a contrast to how he typically spoke with her.  She hesitated to comply as she considered his angry expression and tone.  

He unclenched his fists, smoothing his palms on his pants, clearly trying to calm himself.  He spoke again with earnest, “Take it off right now.  Or I will rip it off of you.”  

Petyr maintained his glare as he watched her shrug off her robe and pull down one purple shoulder strap.  She continued to look at him as she slowly tugged at the other strap.  He reminded himself to use present tense as he said, “You are seeing him tonight, aren’t you?”  

She looked down in guilt, “He was supposed to be here an hour ago.”  

It had been three weeks since that night in the limo, he knew somewhere deep down that she had to be with the Hound since then, but it didn’t make it any less hard for him to swallow.  He could not fight the feeling of betrayal as he offered a pained expression, “ _ Why? _ ”  

She stood naked before him, unabashed.  Completely exposed, she answered, “I’ve denied him.  Since you and I…  He was losing interest.”  She swallowed and her voice became firmer as she held her chin up to him, “I need things to progress.”  

Petyr softened at seeing her forced conviction to stand by her decision regardless of how agonizing it was.  He brought his fingertips to her jaw and tilted her face to his, placing a chaste kiss on her lips.  Her eyes closed as he hovered above her lips and whispered, “I know-- for him to marry you.”  

Her eyes popped open and stared back at him.  He spoke before she could, “And then you’re going to kill him.”  

She blinked and he could feel the electricity running up and down her arms as she trembled, her fight or flight response activated.  His voice thick molasses, trying to soothe her, “Am I right?”  

She gulped, her face still in his hands.  She remained silent.  Petyr released her and took a step back.  He pulled a short black trench coat off of the rack by the door and wrapped it around her, “Here, wear this.”  

Sansa put her arms in and brought the sides closed, tying the belt.  Petyr grabbed her purse for her.  He leaned forward, kissing her forehead and then reached for her hand.  As they walked out the door, she asked, “Where are we going?”  

Petyr kept them moving towards the car as he admitted, “I understand that this is something you need to do.  I also want to help you.”  

Sansa looked up at him, flabbergasted, as he held the car door open for her.  “You would help me marry him?”  

He did not answer at first, trying to contain the loathing he felt at the idea of it.  He motioned for her to get in the car and after her shut the door he walked around and climbed in his side.  She stared at him, waiting for his response.  He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him.  “No.”  

She sighed and began to pull away from him, but he clamped down, “I think marriage is a bad idea.”  

“You don’t understand.  I’ve thought about this.  It’s the only way I’ll get all of his properties.”  Sansa explained to him.  

Petyr knew of another way, but that was part of the present.  He decided to redirect the conversation as the car drove along.  “Marriage could take a long time.  A long time of him--  _ touching _ you.”

Her jaw clenched and her face went hard, “I know.”  

Petyr didn’t ask if she was okay with that, he knew that she made herself accept it a long time ago.  “I can’t handle it,” he confessed.  Petyr knew that jealousy was a weakness, but it was something that he was unable to shrug off or correct in himself since the moment he started to feel it with her.  “I think about the things we’ve done and I know he’s doing the same with you.  His hands, his mouth, grabbing and sucking everywhere I’ve…  The things you’ve done with him…”  Petyr’s breath was labored and his voice broke.  “It drives me mad, to know that I can’t have you to myself.”  

Sansa hugged closer to him and nuzzled into him as she spoke.  “I’ve done only what I’ve had to.  No more.  There’s so much that I won’t let him do, that you could…”  Her voice deepened and her eyes sparkled with want.  

“Oh?”  Petyr noticed the change in her tone and felt all the muscles in his body ease with the hypnotic power of it.  

“And there’s so much that I would do for you that I would never do for him.”  She purred into his chest. 

His eyes snapped open and his dick started to tingle in response to her last statement.  The prospect of doing things with her that she had not done with the Hound was getting his attention.  “Show me.” 

Sansa reached over for his belt and keeping her eyes on Petyr, she unfastened his pants and pulled his cock out.  It was already stiffening at her words, but at the feel of her hand it became rock hard.  She held his gaze as she slowly lowered her face and opened her mouth.  

Petyr was surprised.  How had she been with the Hound for months and avoided this?  He never doubted her skill at maneuvering people, but in that moment he truly appreciated her abilities. Her warm lips surrounded his tip as a wave of pleasure coursed through him.  Very slowly, she slid her mouth down his length.  He held back a shiver at every movement.  Then she stopped for a second, holding all of him in her mouth, her tongue flattened and cradling him.  He took a deep breath and became acclimated to the wet warmth that surrounded him.           

He looked down at the pile of red locks bobbing in his lap, unable to contain his grin.  He ran his palm over her hair and down her back all the way to the naked flesh peeking out of the bottom of her coat.  He hiked the jacket up and caressed the curve of her ass.  She traced her tongue around the rim of his head and he sucked in air.

He massaged her backside, his fingertips reaching lower and lower between her legs, feeling the growing wetness there.  He felt the vibration of her moan into his cock as he slid his middle finger into her.  Petyr slid another finger in and began working them in and out as her mouth worked up and down.  The car swerved and Petyr looked up, meeting a pair of eyes in the rearview mirror. 

This was not a limo, there was no partition, his driver was getting quite a show.  Petyr would normally have carried on, maybe even tugged her coat up higher to give a better view.  But he felt he should protect her modesty, and maintain the sanctity of their private acts.  Petyr pulled his fingers out of her slowly and carefully covered her back up.  His hand travelled back up her spine and over her shoulder.  

He whispered down to her, “We have an audience.  Maybe you’d like to save this for later?”  

She pulled away, her creamy white cheeks and swollen red lips just inches away from his throbbing cock, straining to find her mouth again.  Her eyes a blue flame, as she looked up at him and said, “He’s nobody.  Pay attention to me.”  

He watched her lower her lips back to him as she kept his gaze.  He exhaled slowly as she took all of him in again, beginning the delightfully repetitive motion that he needed.  Petyr ran his fingers through her long strands of hair, clearing any stray wisps away from her face.  He took pleasure in seeing where they connected.  Her eyes closed though occasionally opened to see him looking back.  He ran his hands down her spine and back up again, stroking her affectionately.  

His other hand reached up to the handle attached to the roof of the car as the sheer intensity of the stimulation started to overcome him.  The hand on her back started rubbing more roughly and Petyr felt the familiar twitch that told him he was close.  The last brain cell that was working considered Sansa.  They had never done this before.  He didn’t know if she was one that would swallow him down or if she would back off, forcing him to use his hand to jerk his way to completion.  For a split second he didn’t want to give her the choice, but he knew he needed to.  He tapped her back, and through gritted teeth he strained, “I’m gonna come!”  

She stayed, lifting only her hand to catch his and hold it down against the seat.  Petyr was thankful she did, as he was fast losing control of himself, and he didn’t want to choke her in his frenzy.  The knuckles of his other hand turned white as he squeezed the handle at the tremors that ran through his body and out his cock.  Unable to stop himself, he bucked wildly into her mouth.  She sucked him hard and fast, matching his climax.  Once he slowed down, she kept him in her mouth, catching any cum that came separate from the main course.  When he had softened, she released both him and his hand.  

Petyr pulled her up to his chest.  He smoothed her hair away and kissed her forehead.  He looked down at her puffy lips and smiled warmly, “You are beautiful.”

She smiled into his chest and he held her there for a while before they felt the car come to a stop.  She picked her head up and looked out the window.  He remembered that she still had no idea where they were going.  He grinned in anticipation of giving her present to her.  He tucked himself back into his pants quickly and took her hand, “Come on.”

They stepped out of the car onto the construction site at 222 Sanderstone Place.  Jon Snow was already out of the car that had followed behind and was standing at the entrance.  Petyr suggested that he stay put and Snow looked at Sansa for verification.  She nodded her approval as she followed Petyr into the bare steel beam structure.  They rode the service elevator up and her face asked all the questions that she didn’t voice.  Petyr hugged her and said, “We’re almost there.”  

Bronn met them at the top floor.  He had a gash on the side of his face and was wiping blood from his hands with a greasy rag.  Petyr raised an eyebrow at his disheveled appearance and Bronn responded, “Sometimes I actually have to  _ earn _ the money.”  

Sansa looked him up and down and squeezed Petyr’s hand.  Bronn continued, “He’s straight ahead.  Finally got him to quiet down.” 

Petyr lead her straight ahead, through the cloudy heavy-duty plastic that hung from the ceiling in places.  He kept his eyes on her, watching for her reaction as she took in the site of the Hound, gagged and tied to a chair.

There was a hint of a smile that she could not hide, but then hesitation and anger played across her face as well.  She stood still for a long time, and then she dropped his hand and turned to him.  A cold fury settled in her glare, “You have disappointed me, Baelish.”  

Petyr reached for her hand as he spoke, “Let me explain.  This is not like Brandon.”  

She crossed her arms.  “I am listening.”  

“For as much as you are mine, I am yours.  Your needs are  _ our _ needs.  I am at your disposal--all of my resources are at your disposal.  I know that you must kill him yourself, but I wanted to help in other ways, in getting him to you.  I can be helpful to you and still respect what you need.”  Petyr hoped that being completely honest would help her see his devotion.  

She stood silently for a moment and then drew a deep breath.  “I can appreciate the sentiment, but you have acted rash and now there is no way that I will receive his estate.  I needed him to marry me.”  

Petyr smiled and walked over to the contractor table and picked up a pile of papers that had some light blood smudges on it.  “He’s written you into his will.  You get everything.”  

Sansa craned her head towards him, staring in disbelief.  “He would never do that.  How?”  

Petyr handed the stack of papers to her and then wrapped an arm around her, “I told you, my resources are at your disposal.  I had all of his assets discovered, then I had my lawyers draw up the papers, and Bronn helped to  _ convince _ him to sign.  You get everything, and you get to kill him.  However you want.”  

He leaned in and kissed her, feeling relief that she returned it, she was understanding.  She pulled away gently from their embrace, “And what about you?”  

Petyr had not thought about his role in things after he presented her with her gift.  He took a few steps back away from her as he thought.  He respected that she had been planning to kill the Hound for six years and that she had carried that burden alone.  Perhaps she wanted to be alone now?  To settle business from long ago.  He put his hands in his pockets and looked up at her uneasily, “He’s tied up, you will be safe.  I can leave you to him.”  

“No.”  She reached her arm out to him and he was holding her hand to his face instantly.  She curved her palm around his cheek, and her eyes softened as she looked into his.  “This is perfect.”  Her voice caught momentarily as she said, “Share it with me.”  

A triumphant grin spread across his face as he turned and kissed her palm.  “With pleasure.”  He basked in the joy of her acceptance.  From the moment that he saw her at the Doghouse, there were barriers, facades, and misunderstandings.  And now everything was clicking into place.  Nothing stood between them.  The blood rushed through his body in a warmth at the realization that this was only the beginning for them, nothing could part or stop them now.   

Sansa pulled him in closer to her and this time, it was her that kissed his forehead.  “Ready?”  

He nodded avidly.  

She walked towards Clegane and removed his gag.  “Do you understand what’s going on?  I get to kill you.  Your death is my present.”  

The Hound looked up at both Petyr and Sansa through broken and battered eyes, and laughed cynically, “I guess that explains why you’re such a frigid bitch.  Not too pretty to fuck, just fucking him instead.”  

Sansa smirked and said, “You are such a charmer.  But I always knew that.  From long ago.  From the first time we saw each other.  When you hid behind a mask as you offered my mother the chance to pick which one of us kids you’d let live if she would get on her knees for each of your men.  What did you say?  ‘One kid gets to live for each stinger wet.’  You have a way with the ladies.”

The Hound had nothing to say, but he tried anyway, “It was a fair offer.  Not my fault she was a mouthy bitch.”  

Sansa held her arms at her sides, “She spit in your face to keep you looking at her so you wouldn’t see me behind you.”  She took a deep breath and said, “But that didn’t matter in the end anyway, did it?”  

The Hound smiled through blackened eyes and puffy lips, “You had the perfect shot and you missed.”  

Petyr pieced the picture together from what Arya had shared and what he was hearing.  After witnessing the merciless death of her mother, hands trembling in grief, she shot the Hound and missed.  Petyr could just see the consequent events unfolding after-- the Hound and his men chasing after, her running and shooting behind her haphazardly.  He could see her running out of bullets and thinking fast, freeing the wolves, letting them run to the smell of blood before eventually turning on her.  

She peered into his eyes, “You obviously knew who I was when we met, why did you pursue me?” 

The Hound spoke under his sweaty mop, “Because I thought you’d be fun to fuck.”  

“Even though I shot you?”  Sansa slowly reached for her purse and Petyr remembered the Beretta.  

The Hound laughed, “Because I had you hanging off my arm and you had no idea that it was me that killed your mom.  It felt kinky.”  

Sansa pulled the gun out of her purse and looked at it as she said, “You want to know what’s arousing?  Killing someone who deserves to die.”  

Petyr slowly approached her, letting her know that he was sliding behind her.  He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his forehead on the back of her head as he whispered, “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

She lifted the gun and pointed it at Clegane.  Petyr felt all of the muscles in her body tighten as she wavered momentarily.  And then BANG!  He gripped her tighter in response.  BANG!  He provided the resistance she needed against the kick-back.  BANG!  Eyes closed, he felt the reverberation of the last shot.  Standing this close to the gun as it fired, Petyr’s ears rang for a moment and he could barely hear the Hound scream at being hit.   

Clegane coughed up blood in between yelps of pain.  He managed to choke out, “Dumb bitch can’t even kill me right.”

Petyr looked over her shoulder and counted the three bloody holes in Clegane’s stomach.  He was confused.  Hadn’t Arya said that Sansa was a great aim?  She did miss him before, but she was younger, panicked, and running for her life against many grown experienced men.  It made sense for her to miss before, but this time, with Clegane presented to her on a platter…  How had she missed his heart or his head?  

Clegane started moaning loudly and yelling in pain.  Sansa calmly put her gun back in her purse and clicked it shut, a faint smile on her face.  Petyr came back around to the front of her, hands never leaving her.  His eyes questioned her.  She smiled and leaned into his mouth.  He returned her passionate kiss, with the Hound howling in the background.

She pressed herself to him, grinding against his erection.  She broke from his lips and started trailing kisses down his neck.  Petyr’s hands massaged into her back as he groaned his response to her jamming her hand down the front of his pants and grabbing his naked cock.  She pulled her face away for a moment as she looked around behind her and then she turned back to face him.  With a self-satisfied look, she said, “Gut shots take longer to die from.  The last thing he'll see is you fucking me.  And I'll get off as I watch him die.”  

Petyr looked into her eyes, sparkling with mischief and naughty.  Before he could respond she continued, “Pick me up and set me on that contractor table so I can still see him.”  

Petyr looked back at the Hound and the agony he was in, screaming for someone to put him out of his misery.  The commanding tone she used evoked a strong desire to follow orders and a need to give her pleasure.  The idea of taking her in front of the Hound was tantalizing.  He had wanted to kill the Hound to display his power and show him and the world that Sansa was his.  But taking her in front of the Hound, definitely showed without a shadow of a doubt that she belonged with Petyr.  The fact that she thought of it and wanted it only made it that more provocative.  

At the silence of Petyr coming to this realization, Sansa pulled at her belt.  Her coat fell open and Petyr’s eyes traveled down her chest, over the small amount of stomach peeking out, and down to the little V between her legs, sprinkled in red curls.  His cock twitched at the sight of the continuous line of flesh that stood before him.  The hunger for her took over as he reached forward under her coat, grabbing and lifting her.  His mouth devoured hers as he walked toward the table, her legs wrapped around his hips.  When he set her down he started to yank at his belt to free himself but seeing her reclined back on her hands, legs spread, pussy up and on display, he found himself instead bending down, bringing his mouth to her.  

Petyr kissed the lips between her legs as he would the ones on her face at first, then he slowly started sliding his tongue along her opening.  She moaned in response to his touch.  He inhaled her musky scent as he plunged his tongue further into her folds and felt her hand come down on the top of his head, petting him in encouragement.  He opened his eyes to steal a glance at her, trench coat lying just so to cover one breast, while the other poked out, exposed.  He watched her moan and breathe heavily from his lapping as she watched the Hound slowly die behind him.  She had never looked more powerful or beautiful than in that moment.  

That had to be where she was.  222 Sanderstone Place.  Their first dead body.          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Faradaze for suggesting that Arya ride a motorcycle -- my mind just wandered from there and before I knew it she was guzzling beer, puffing on cigarettes, and dropping F bombs. LoL. Thank you for giving me the idea to run with! :)


	10. Beneath Our Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where do our enemies go?”

His mouth watered at the knowledge of her taste.  Impatiently, he leaned forward in his seat, placing a hand on the back of the driver seat, “It’s a construction site…”

Or, it _was._  It would be something else now.  Petyr tried to remember the layout of the steel beams.  It was going to be something big.  A shopping center?  Business building?  Another federal building?  

With his face buried between her legs, hands full with her thighs urging her on, he never thought to look at the blueprints under her ass.  Petyr picked at his pants, trying to offer a little needed pressure to his erection.  Still leaning forward, Petyr stared out all of the windows searching for any clue of which building on Sanderstone was 222.  A lot had changed in twelve years.

He knew that this must be it.  It had to be the construction site.  He had visited all the firsts that brought him to that point.  

His phone buzzed.   _I feel so empty.  Fill me._

There was nothing he wanted more.  From the start of this game he knew she wanted him.  She flirted and toyed with her texts, but as the game drug on, he could tell that she was feeling the strain of it as well.  He had just seen her that morning during their daily coffee and newspaper ritual.  It had only been five hours since, but they had both grown quite desperate for each other.  

Damn it!  Damn her for another one of her games.  Damn him for not being quicker-- _smarter_.  Anger and blood surged through him as he thought about what he would do as soon as he saw her.  Fuck.  Nothing else.  He couldn’t.  She brought him to the brink of lunacy, stripping all civility away from him.  He would not kiss or caress, tease or tickle.  He would grab and tear, plunge and pump.

The car rolled to a stop and Petyr shot out of the car, the sun shone in his eyes as he looked for Sansa, or even Jon Snow.  He knew if he saw Snow, he would see Sansa.  Neither were there, and Petyr felt the disappointment in his chest.  Just then he noticed Bronn as he approached with a disgusted look on his face.  

She was here.  If Bronn was here, she was here.  “What?”  Petyr asked, irritated at Bronn’s face.  Where was Sansa?

Bronn explained, “You fucked her in a school?  With all the little kiddies around?”

“What?”  Petyr looked around for the first time looking at the building in front of him and the sign outside of it that read:  Yronwood Academy.  This was a school.  His kids’ school.  He had never been here before, not to this school anyway.  Sansa had been handling the transfer.    

He barely heard Bronn continue in his disgust, “That’s fucking depraved.”  

Petyr shook himself out of the realization and glared at Bronn.  “You know where we are.”  

Bronn looked at him again, “Yes, a school.”  

“It’s 222 Sanderstone…”  Petyr waited, hoping that realization would hit.  

It didn’t.  “Yes, I know.  I found it in my GPS.”  Bronn looked back at him as if he were slow.  

Petyr spoke through gritted teeth.  “We’ve been here before.  Years ago.”  

Bronn stared blankly.  

“We used the concrete.  For _things_.”  Petyr turned his head down as he said it so that no one could read his unmoving lips.  

Bronn crossed his arms and turned to stare at the building.  “That doesn’t help much, I use concrete for _things_ all the time.”  

Petyr’s fists clenched at his sides in frustration.  He had spent too much time on this, Sansa was here somewhere, waiting for him.  “Nevermind.”  

As Petyr pushed past him Bronn exclaimed, “Oh!!!  You mean for, you know--”  He turned his hands to paws in front of his chest and whispered, “Woof, woof.”    

Petyr looked back, pursing his lips and squinting his eyes in frustration before he nodded in affirmation.  

“Fuck, that was ages ago.”  Bronn shook his head and started to walk towards his car.  “It’s funny how time flies.”  His forehead wrinkled at the thought and his hand came up as he sighed, “Yeesh.  Thank god for Botox.”

Petyr was already bounding up the front steps trying to remind himself to control his pace.  He did not need to draw attention.  He was stalking the crowd, slithering around anyone obviously not her.  His eyes scavenged the crowd for those striking auburn locks.  Locks that he had wrapped around his fist and tugged on countless times as he spilled inside of her.  He stifled a moan at the memories as he continued to push forward.      

Small children flooded the halls, backpacks smacking him as they bumped past.  He instantly shielded his erection, mortified by its presence in that company.  He sidestepped out of crowd, placing his back against the wall.  Annoyance at his current predicament flared as he hunted his prey, tracking the movement.  

And then a terrible thought snaked it’s way through him, _What if my children see me?_

Even if he could subdue the raging tent in his pants, he didn’t know that he could stay calm for long.  His brain cells had been saturated in testosterone, his libido taking control.  What would he say to them?  “Sorry, can’t think right now, gotta go bang Mommy senseless.  Have you seen her, by chance?”  Probably not.  

He slid along the sides of the wall hoping not to be noticed, looking for that familiar red mane.  Petyr saw a staircase up ahead and decided to chance it.  If he knew Sansa, she would make him work for it.  As he held the railing, he felt a warmth come over him as memories of their first date flashed by him.  That treacherous skirt and those naughty peek-a-boo undies.  Now, twelve years later, he’d seen thousands of her panties, even ones in the same style.  He still found himself fantasizing about _those_ ones--that night.  What would have happened if he just yanked her skirt up?  Ripped it if he had to.  

He shook the thought from his head as he came to the top of the stairs, repeating to himself that things had ended up perfectly in the end.  He reached in his pocket for his phone and noticed a curly brown mop he was well acquainted with.  Snow.  

Petyr flew across the floor to him, bobbing and weaving around people.  “Where?”  He demanded.  

Jon held up an “Out of Order” sign and taped it to the bathroom door behind him and then gestured towards it.  He then remained where he was, arms crossed protectively.  

Petyr stood staring at the door and the yellow sign freshly placed there and a calmness washed over him.  He inhaled slowly.  He knew where his Sansa was.  And within moments he would be inside her.  He remembered the first time he was able to be inside her, naked, no sheath separating them.  He had brought his face up to hers, dripping from its time between her legs. He stared back at her look of surprise and desire at his sudden invasion and felt her orgasm around him.  He almost burst the seam of his pants with his growth and had to remind himself that relief would come soon.  

He slowly entered the bathroom to find her standing in the doorway of one of the stalls.  She wore khakis and a sweater.  Her hair was in a modest braid kept to one side, and she was decorated only in pearl stud earrings.  This was not what he expected.  Normally it would have been a little black dress or she would dress for the club and never make it to the club.  Not to say that he never fucked her in her suburban housewife attire before, or that she wasn’t still dead sexy in it, simply that she had never used khakis for one of her games before.  

And never before had her breasts looked so full and perky trapped under a sweater, or had her butt rounded out her more sensible pants.  He searched her face.  Her smile was triumphant and extended all the way up to her eyes, glimmered wickedly.  For a moment there was silence as raw energy and need sung through his body as his blood rushed.  He stood vibrating in place, barely able to reign in his instinct to pounce.  

And then she opened her mouth.  “You’re late.  Pussy’s closed.”  

And the leash snapped.  Petyr lunged forward crashing into her.  She laughed out loud as she fell back into the stall wall.  Petyr smashed his lips into hers, prying her open, and jamming his tongue into her mouth.  She smiled into the forceful kiss.  His hands bawled up and gripped her sweater as he pulled away for a second to say, “No it’s not.”  He kissed her neck as she breathed, smiling in agreement, “No, it’s not.”

He had her turned around completely, pressing her into the wall, biting her neck as he growled, “Pull your pants down.”  

Her hands instantly started working to unfasten her pants as Petyr jerked at his belt.  She scooted her pants down as he freed his cock.  For the briefest of moments, he rubbed it against her soft cheeks, his eyes fluttering at the softness he felt.  He wondered for a moment if she was wet enough.  There hadn’t been the opportunity for foreplay, he simply couldn’t.  He was just too worked up, she did that to him.  

In case she was not, Petyr licked the four fingers of his palm and reached down between her legs, rubbing them all over the outside of her before he slid his fingers in.  He had learned over the years that a little lubrication on the outside helped him slide easier to the wetness inside.  Listening to her sounds of pleasure at his touch and feeling the slipperiness of her sex, he knew she was more than ready for him.  He pulled his fingers out and slid them up and down his cock as he thought about how much she ached for him all this time too.  

He lined himself up to her and at the feel of her opening on his tip he thrust up into her reflexively.  Once inside he pushed as far as he could go, pressed his whole body against hers, against the wall.  It was impossible to be any closer to her, despite his efforts.  He nuzzled his face into the back of her head, breathing in that clean rain smell.  He smiled into her hair as he felt her shift trying to accommodate his fullness inside of her.  He watched her smile as she turned her head and lay one cheek against the wall.  One arm reached up and gripped the top of the divider wall and her other hand gripped the toilet paper dispenser on the wall.  She drove herself back into him and sighed with pleasure at the movement.  

Petyr took the encouragement and began rocking back and forth inside of her.  He reached one hand around to the front of her, only able to slide a finger in at the top of her nub.  Her pants had fallen down and gathered at her knees but would not free her any further.  He slid his other hand up under her sweater and over her bra, squeezing her breast in its entirety.  She moaned into it.  Still sliding in and out of her, he focused on her breast, pulling the cup down and freeing it.  He rubbed and pulled at her nipple, encouraged by her heavy breathing.  

She reached down and pulled his hand away and put it on her hip as she brought her own hand to herself as she panted, “Harder!”  

He gripped her hip and started pumping into her harder.  She moaned louder as she worked herself for him.  Her arm still held up gripping the stall wall, allowed her to shove herself back into him to match each time he thrust forward.  His other hand let go of her breast, leaving it there disheveled, hanging out of her bra, bouncing with the force of his humping.  He kept his hand on her hip though he brought his the other hand up to her shoulder, gripping it for stability and force.  She began quivering around his cock as she screamed, “Harder--Fuck!”  

He used his new grip and powerful stance to reel back and drive himself into her with extra force.  

“Ungh, yes, fuck, yes.”  She breathed in orgasm.  

He tightened his grips as he drove into her again and again, increasing his pace, and twitching occasionally from the sheer sensation of being fully encased by her wet warmth.  She pulsed around him and it was just the right movement to set him off.  He felt the shockwaves of his own orgasm ripple through his cock as he burst inside of her.  He rested his head on her back, still gripping her shoulder and hip as he pushed into her a couple more time, prolonging the sensation as long as he could.  

After a couple of minutes, he pulled out of her and staggered back against the other wall.  She pulled some toilet paper out of the dispenser and handed him some.  She wiped herself down and threw it in the toilet as she reached down for her pants.  

He looked at her confused as he cleaned up.  Why was she in such a hurry?  She looked back at his face and laughed, “The meeting.”  

Meeting?  “What meeting?”  

She was buttoning her pants as she rolled her eyes and gestured to the building around them.  

They were in a school.  Obviously, it was a meeting for one of the kids.  “Durran?”  

“He’s five.  What could a five year old possibly do to warrant a meeting?”  She laughed as she tucked her breast back into her bra.  

He pulled his pants up and considered for a moment that he was not very aware of what happened in Kindergarten and that maybe it wasn’t so outlandish to wonder.  

She shook her head, eyes sparkling at him, “Stop thinking about it.  It’s Elenei.  I don’t know what.  But Miss Mordane called this meeting, and I couldn’t have you missing it.”  

Petyr’s jaw dropped, dumbstruck.  “You mean, all of this was just a way of getting me to the meeting?”

She smiled and straightened his pants and shirt, “You like my games.”  

He stood still, allowing her to fix him, “I do.  I’m not sure I appreciate you insinuating that without your assistance, I wouldn’t make it to the meeting.”

She smoothed out her braid, “You forgot about it entirely.  Or else you wouldn’t be running all over the city trying to take care of your hard-on.”  

He followed her out the stall door and stood next to her in front of the mirror, “Your game was a distraction.  If I had been paying attention, I would have remembered.”  

“And I wasn’t going to take that chance.  I want you by my side for this.”  Her face stern as she looked at his reflection.  

At the change in tone, he turned to her.  “Are you worried?”  

“She’s only nine.  What could possibly be wrong?” Her arms folded defensively across her chest.  

Petyr’s face softened and his voice warmed as he wrapped an arm around her.  “We will face it together.  There’s nothing we can’t handle together -- just ask the Lannisters or the Tyrells.”  Petyr looked down at the ground and said, “I’m sure there’s a lot of people who could confirm that too.”  

Sansa looked at tile floor and, subsequently, the concrete under it and smiled.  

“Where do our enemies go?”  Petyr leaned in, hovering above her lips.  

She smiled back, “Beneath our feet.”  

They shared their familiar kiss and he reached for her hand, kissing it once before folding it in his own.  Together, they walked out of the bathroom and made for Miss Mordane’s office, with Jon following silently behind.  

                                                                                                                  ===

Miss Mordane’s face angled in consternation, “This is a very big problem.  You see the tokens are incentives for the children to be well behaved in their studies.  It is a great honor to be able to bring one home to show the parents.”  

Petyr and Sansa sat in their adjoining chairs, dividing their attention between her dismay over the situation and their own private communication.  Sansa made the first effort, “Yes I understand that, Elenei has been bringing one home every night--”  

“Which is why we aren’t understanding what could be wrong.”  Petyr finished Sansa’s sentence and then reached over to hold her hand in apology for overstepping.  

She squeezed his palm back in reassurance and they continued to listen to Miss Mordane.  “She has begun purchasing bags of gold tokens from the dollar store, marking them to look like our gold tokens and then selling them to the other kids.”  

Sansa and Petyr pivoted their heads in unison, looking at each other.  Both trying not to allow any amusement to dance across their faces.  

Petyr turned back to Miss Mordane, “How much is she selling her counterfeit tokens for?”  

Miss Mordane shook her head, “Last I heard it was two dollars, why?”  

Petyr sucked in air through his teeth and then he turned to Sansa, “How many tokens come in a bag at the dollar store?  Give or take?”  

Miss Mordane attempted to interject, “That’s really not the point--”  

Sansa smiled and replied, “I think about ten.”  

“That’s triple the profit.”  Petyr chuckled.  “She’s ruthless.”  He brought the back of Sansa’s hand up to his mouth and offered her a kiss.  “Just like her mother.”  

She smiled at this affection and countered him.  “Mmm, and her head for business comes from her father.”  

Dimples showed to either side of his goatee as he smiled happily at his wife’s endearment for him and proudly at his daughter’s ambition.  

“Excuse me?”  Miss Mordane’s eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.  “Are you hearing what I’m saying?  Your daughter is hustling her fourth grade class.”  

Petyr turned and smiled, “And we will definitely have a discussion with her about this, and look to channel her ambition appropriately.”  

Sansa followed up, “My concern is for the other children.  They sound like they could benefit from some assertiveness and self-esteem classes so that they are able to decline offers that aren’t in their bests interests in the future.”  

Miss Mordane stared at them incredulously.  Petyr was the first to stand, reaching to help Sansa up.  “Well, thank you for sharing your concerns.  We will of course speak with Elenei, but I think my wife is onto something.  The children should have the self-confidence and skills to say no to peer pressure.  I’ll check to see if any of our proposed changes have made it to the curriculum.”

Sansa was walking towards the door, tugging Petyr along.  “Have a great day, Miss Mordane.  Thank you again for bringing this to our attention.”  Petyr and Sansa left quickly before they erupted in laughter.               

**Author's Note:**

> This piece as well as all of my work to date is edited by Faradaze, whom I truly can not thank enough.  
> Please check out this piece by her:  
> [Slick As A Baby Seal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7540495/chapters/17144578)


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